


The Unexpected

by elyjah



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Angst, Anxiety, Bofur is a Sweetheart, Canon Divergence, F/M, Gender Issues, Hurt/Comfort, Lots of Angst, M/M, Nightmares, PTSD, Panic Attacks, Scars, Thilbo, Thorin is grumpy, Trust Issues, also angsty, bagginshield, fem Ori, itll get fluffy at some point, reimagining of events, warnings in relevant chapters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-17
Updated: 2016-12-18
Packaged: 2018-03-13 10:56:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 27
Words: 45,748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3378986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elyjah/pseuds/elyjah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bilbo Baggins was not like other hobbits. Sure, he used to be, many years ago: as cheerful as any other hobbit, with a pudgy middle and a decent appreciation for gardening. But now, he lay behind closed doors, keeping his face hidden in shadow. Nobody knew quite what happened, only that he'd gone out one day with an easy smile and came back with a lowered head and  the evidence of something unspeakable shown on his feet. He lived quietly, in the shadows, from then on.</p><p>Until a pack of dwarves and a wizard tumbled through his doorway.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. introductions

The little round green door had stood closed for far too long.

Every now and then, the hobbits of the Shire might spot a hooded figure around the marketplace, unidentifiable if it weren’t for the fact that everyone knew who it was. Those of age averted their eyes, instead deciding to stare awkwardly at their furred feet, while children openly stared. It was a spectacle to see a hobbit wearing almost black, a very dark grey cloak, so void of any colour. It was equally odd that the hobbit kept his feet covered in slips of fabric tied around his ankles. 

Slowly, the frequency with which this hobbit was seen decreased. The door to Bag End grew harsh on its hinges with disuse. The hobbit, Bilbo Baggins was his name, slipped small coins through a window to his gardener who’d begun to bring what food he needed from the marketplace without complaint. The days blurred, becoming weeks becoming months, and Bilbo wasted away in the dark of his home.

About a year into his self-imposed exile, a knock sounded on the door, gentle but persistent. Bilbo frowned at his book; no visitors tried to come by anymore, they knew no answer would be given. Soon, the knocking ceased, prompting a relieved smile from Bilbo, which disappeared as soon as a peculiar scratching noise replaced it 

Bilbo shivered and retreated to his bedroom, pulling the covers around his thin form. When the scratching stopped, he remained in his blankets for another hour, eyes shut against the day.

A week later, this event had been brushed off to the back of his mind, where it lay gathering dust. He pulled a black cloak around his body and lowered the hood, delicately serving dinner on a large plate. Every time he looked in the mirror, he could see how thin he’d been getting, and it most certainly wasn’t healthy. He very slowly chewed his bread roll, tasteless against his tongue. Unsurprising. Everything was tasteless these days.

He’d just finished about half the roll when a heavy knock sounded at the door and he startled almost out of his seat. It was not the knock of a hobbit, for sure, which made his veins shock with cold. When he didn’t answer the door, the knock came again, louder. The house practically shuddered.

If it weren’t for the fact that Bilbo was concerned his door would collapse on this violent fist, he probably would not have stood to even approach it. As it were, it took ten long seconds of breathing deeply before he turned the squeaky handle and cautiously eased it open.

A rather large dwarf stood on Bilbo’s doorstep. He had a tattooed balding head and forearms that were the size of Bilbo’s calves. “Took your time,” he growled. “Dwalin, at your –“

“Dwarf!” Bilbo squeaked, swinging the door closed as quickly as his skinny arms could. A large booted foot swiftly came between the door and its frame and Bilbo hurriedly stepped back as his door slammed against the opposite wall. Dwalin grinned, kind of resembling an amused shark. 

“Polite,” he said gruffly. “Where’s the food?” Without waiting for an answer, he entered the home with heavy footsteps and followed his nose to the kitchen.

Bilbo pulled his hood up, covering the shock of curls falling to his shoulders. Too long, he thought for a moment, but it did not matter. His face fell into shadow and for just a small second he could breathe properly. Timidly, he peered into the kitchen, at the dwarf chomping through what was no longer Bilbo’s dinner.

“Um,” Bilbo murmured before another knock, much less violent, came from the gaping doorway. Bilbo scurried back to find an older dwarf smiling cheerfully at him.

“Balin, at your service,” he said, immediately entering and letting out a pleased grunt when he heard sounds coming from the kitchen. “Ah, I’m not the first one here!”

Bilbo froze just inside his doorway. His night continued in the strange way as more and more dwarves piled through. Soon, he found himself fervently wishing he hadn’t opened the door in the first place, until he realised that Dwalin would probably have rather knocked the door off its hinges before leaving.

What he thought was his final visitor was, in the end, not a dwarf at all, but a wizard clad in grey and a cone-shaped hat. This person he recognised vaguely from his childhood, though he had no idea why someone who worked with fireworks was now at his doorstep. “Gandalf!” Bilbo squawked pitifully. “Please – you must help me – there are dwarves overflowing my house.”

“My dear Bilbo, you remember me,” he chuckled. “Everything will be explained in due time. But why on earth are you hiding behind that dark cloak? Hobbits don’t dress like that.”

Bilbo merely mumbled something incomprehensible, followed by, “I don’t like dwarves. Why are they here?”

A dwarf that had just been passing looked up, affronted. “Now that’s not very nice, is it? Us dwarves are nothing short of perfectly good people.”

The blonde dwarf beside him grinned. “Everyone but you, brother.” He nudged his darker-haired sibling, who, somehow not expecting this, tumbled into Bilbo, who in turn fell hard onto his backside. 

“Oh Mahal, sorry Master Baggins.” He offered his hand to assist Bilbo to his feet, but the hobbit merely stared at it with trembling feet.

“I’m okay,” he mumbled, ignoring the hand and climbing unsteadily to his feet. “It’s okay.” If he was being truly honest, he was more trying to reassure himself rather than the young concerned dwarf standing above him.

A knock distracted dwarves, hobbit and wizard alike. Bilbo almost groaned aloud. Gandalf shuffled forwards to swing the door open, revealing a dwarf unlike any he’d ever seen before. His dark hair framed his face, with a beard cropped short, an unusual sight for dwarves. Eyes of a piercing blue sought out Bilbo’s beneath his hood, and Bilbo felt his breath catch in his throat.

“Bilbo,” Gandalf said merrily, “this is the leader of our company, Thorin Oakenshield.”

“Company?” Bilbo’s voice had reached an alarmingly high pitch. “Gandalf, please explain to me what’s going on.”

“You have been chosen to be burglar for our quest,” Thorin replied in Gandalf’s stead. “Though I question this choice. A strong wind could blow you away, Master Baggins.” Bilbo huffed quietly under his breath, too confused to respond.

Gandalf pulled a weak-kneed Bilbo to his chair and it was there that the quest was finally explained.

\---  
Later, Bilbo sat with a dry mouth and a long contract over his knees. “Gandalf, I can’t go travelling with a troop of dwarves. I just, I can’t.”

“Why ever not, my dear hobbit?”

The low murmurs of the dwarves came into the room where Gandalf and Bilbo sat. Some had been bedded down in Bilbo’s sitting room, while others grouped together to discuss…who knows what.

“Because…because…” The reasons tangled themselves in Bilbo’s head. He sighed. How could he explain how much it scared him to come in contact with dwarves again? “I can’t just suddenly leave the Shire.”

Gandalf hmphed loudly. “From what I’ve heard, you haven’t been active in the Shire for a while. I think it would do you good to go out in the world. Your mother would be ashamed to call me her friend if I did not take you to see what lays outside this little land of the hobbits.”

Bilbo twisted his hands together. A small burn in his gut sparked – it had been a long time since he’d felt anything beyond emptiness. “These dwarves – what are they like?”

The wizard squinted down at Bilbo. “Stubborn, rowdy lot, they are, but essentially good people. What is with your distrust of dwarves, my friend? When you were but a little thing, you used to talk of adventuring and meeting every other race you could. Do you not remember?”

Bilbo flinched. Of course he remembered. The adventurous side of him was the whole reason he was entrenched with distrust now. He took a shuddering breath, assuring himself that these dwarves were _good._

It was with a shaking hand that he finally signed the contract, taking a step onto a path he never thought he’d even stare down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (please be kind, this is my first time wandering into writing again for years.)


	2. travels

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am...so startled by the response to this. Thank you so much for the kudos, bookmarks and comments. I wasn't planning on updating so soon, but you were all so lovely, I just had to.

When Bilbo rose in the morning, many of the dwarves were sleeping on their bedrolls in the sitting room. It was still dark, the deepest dark it becomes just before dawn. His day clothes from yesterday were rumpled, as he'd so gracefully fallen asleep in them, so he quickly changed into attire more suitable for travelling. Soft, loose clothing, aged but durable, and of course his dark cloak over top.

He came to a stop just outside the entrance to his kitchen, listening to the rumble of Thorin and Dwalin’s voices. “I know Gandalf says he’s perfect for the job,” came Thorin’s easily recognisable voice. “But I can’t figure him out. Sure, he looks like a burglar in that awful cloak of his, but when the hood comes down? His face is too soft and innocent. I don’t think he’ll survive for long.”

“Give him a chance,” Dwalin muttered. “Who else could we use? One of those fat cheerful hobbits from the marketplace? You don’t have any other choice and you know it.”

“We should just send a dwarf in.”

“Yeah,” Dwalin chuckled with not a hint of amusement. “And wake up a dragon? Not happening.”

Bilbo shook himself before entering, taking Thorin’s glower with stiff shoulders. He pulled his hood over his head, ashamed but unsure of what. Traipsing to his pantry, he faintly realised there was nothing there anymore bar a few crumbs on the floor. “You ate…all the food in my pantry?” He turned incredulously to a grinning Dwalin. He studiously ignored the grumpy dwarf leader.

“Nay,” Balin replied, entering with a politely stifled yawn. “The rest we packed up for the road...though I admit, there wasn't much left."

“Ah.” Bilbo’s voice was weak. He was only just beginning to realise what it meant to be going travelling with a large group of dwarves as a…burglar? As a burglar of a dragon’s hoard. What did it matter though, in the end? There was nothing left for him to mourn if he died. No family or friends that he’d kept contact with, merely an empty home with dust lining the bookshelves. 

Perhaps, in a way, he was already dead.

Bilbo’s light shivering was interrupted by Gandalf calling, “The ponies are ready!” How he could sound so cheerful this early in the morning, Bilbo did not know. After that, it didn’t take long for all the dwarves to rise, collect their packs and climb up on the ponies, ready to leave.

Bilbo stood next to what appeared to be a pony for him. “I, uh-“ he stuttered. “I don’t think I should ride a pony, you know, I can walk just fine-“

A boot softly landed on his side, teasing more than anything. Bilbo looked up to see the grinning face of Kili, the dwarf who’d knocked him over last night and who was apparently a prince. “Get on a pony, Master Boggins, we don’t got all morning.”

“That’s…not my name,” Bilbo murmured, far too quietly for it to matter. He sighed loudly, clambering up onto the pony with ease. Twelve astonished gazes and one glare settled on him. “What, you think I’ve never ridden a pony before?” Bilbo cried indignantly. 

“You just don’t seem like…a pony-riding lad, Master Baggins. Particularly with all that fussing,” Bofur piped up, his hat askew on his head. “Then again, neither does any hobbit, do they? Your feet are all so large, they look like they could take you anywhere.” Behind his moustache, a slight flush grew on his cheeks. “Sorry, was that offensive?”

Bilbo found a deep chuckle settle in his gut, not quite making it through his throat. It had been a long time since he’d laughed, he mused. “No, Master Dwarf, feet are a hobbit’s pride.”

“Oh please, it’s Bofur.” The ponies’ hooves make soft sounds against the fluttering grass of the Shire. “Why do you keep yours covered then, Master Baggins? No other hobbit I’ve seen does that.”

Bilbo looked down at his large feet, averagely sized for that of a halfling. The slips of fabric that covered the tops of his feet were stained, but not dirty, for he washed them every night. The slip was tied around his left ankle and then again at his largest and smallest toe, mirrored on his other foot. He cleared his throat. “Why indeed.”

Silence settled uncomfortably over the two. The ponies rode on.

\---

“He’s so cute,” Kili mumbled happily to his brother. Thorin and Dwalin, just ahead of them, also heard the comment.

“He’s a wraith,” Thorin grouched. “Barely even there. How can one so like a corpse be considered ‘cute’?”

Kili blanched, the condescension obvious in his uncle’s voice. Dwalin sighed gustily and shook his tattooed head. “Ah, he’s not that bad,” he grumbled, with a lightness under his words. “He’s not got much to him, I’ll give you that, but I think eventually he’ll grow on you.”

“You just like 'em small,” Thorin replied quietly with a smile fluttering at the edge of his lips. A very faint flush appeared on Dwalin’s cheekbones, a sight so unusual that both Fili and Kili roared with laughter.

“What’s this, Dwalin?” Fili cried gleefully. “Got a little dwarf lass back at the Blue Mountains?”

The growl that Dwalin released would have been intimidating if it weren’t for that persistent blush. 

\---

As the dusk drew, Thorin halted his pony. “We camp here, off the track. Everybody knows what to do.”

All the dwarves slid off their mounts, each going to their assigned task. Gloin and Oin began working on a fire, while Bombur set about organising food ingredients, assumedly for dinner. Fili and Kili organised the ponies, with some help from little Ori. Nori and Dwalin walked off into the trees in opposite directions, to survey their surroundings. The rest merely gathered around the growing fire, talking.

Bilbo sat on his pony for a few moments, uncertain and feeling a small tremble returning to his hands. How in all of Middle Earth was he going to sleep in the company of dwarves?

Aching along his thighs and backside, he relinquished his pony to Fili, leaning his pack against a tree. Dwalin resurfaced from the surrounding woodland. “There’s a stream nearby, we should refill our waterskins and bathe.”

 _Bathing._ A problem Bilbo had overlooked. He decided quickly to go late in the night, when nearly all dwarves were tucked into their bed rolls.

Dinner was miserable. Gandalf sat beside Bilbo, his furry eyebrows pulled into a deep frown. “You know, I’d quite forgotten how you were when you were a hobbit child, dear Bilbo,” he said thoughtfully, his pipe held by the corner of his mouth. “But you were just the same as any other hobbit, and yet now…you’re clad in queer clothing and appear to have none of the joy that comes so easily to hobbits. What happened, my dear boy?”

Instead of answering, the hobbit took the time to sniff the air, aware of the scent of stew brewing in a pot above the fire. His stomach grumbled. Dwarves did not live on hobbit mealtimes, which, even to Bilbo who barely ate much, would take some time to get used to. 

“Bilbo…” Gandalf rumbled. Right, he’d asked a question.

Bilbo sighed gustily. “I just feel these clothes fit me better. I don’t stand out in them. Well, I mean, I did in the Shire, obviously, but out here not at all. It’s a lot more comfortable than wearing the bright clothes of a hobbit, sticking out like a sore thumb.” Aware he’d just spoken more than he had in probably years, he promptly closed his mouth.

Gandalf stood abruptly, grumbling through his pipe, and walked away to wherever it is wizards go when they don’t wish to talk anymore.

\---

Later, with the night air darkly wrapped around loudly snoring dwarves, Bilbo crept out of his bedroll and clambered to his feet. He didn’t make a sound as he walked very softly towards the stream, which he’d sought out earlier to ensure he knew where it was. Quickly, he filled up his waterskin and laid it aside.

With nimble fingers, he untied the fabric from his feet and lowered the slips into the slowly running water, scrubbing out the dirt with his fingernails. He refused to look at his feet.

He was just about to remove his other clothing when a squeak cut through his thoughts. Snapping his head up, he found a dwarf submerged in the river merely five feet away. How he hadn’t noticed him, Bilbo did not know. He was sure all the dwarves were back sleeping, apart from Fili, who was on watch. 

“…Ori?” he asked, squinting his eyes in the gloom, altogether unsure if he was correct in naming him. He furrowed his face in confusion as the young dwarf folded his arms awkwardly over his chest. And in that moment, clarity startled through Bilbo’s mind.

That was most certainly not a man’s chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> in reference tothe last line - yes it sounds very transphobic, this is because i feel in this story the shire would bevery sheltered in terms of gender diverse ppeople - that hobbits are taught your body equals your gender. i do believe transgender and non binary hobbits would exist but that it would be hushed away  
> its not overly relevant to the story as its not set in the shire, but i just wanted to explain that this is why bilbo takes this view  
> ori does however identify as a woman in this fic


	3. trolls

“Oh – oh, _Ori_ ,” Bilbo squeaked in alarm, clapping his hands over his eyes. “I am so sorry, I didn’t realise – I didn’t think anyone was here, I –“ His lips flapped pointlessly a few times before closing, 

“Master Baggins!” Ori’s voice seemed strangled. “One moment, let me get myself presentable.” The sound of splashing met the hobbit’s flushing ears as he kept his eyesight blank. It was the first time he’d seen a female naked, apart from his mother if that counted, and he knew – at least to hobbits – many found it incredibly rude and improper, shaming both parties, unless of course they were courting.

“Okay, you can stop hiding your eyes now,” Ori said timidly. When Bilbo cautiously peered out from behind his fingers, as though Ori would for some reason lie about his – her – decency, he found the small dwarf seated at the edge of the river.

The second Ori noticed Bilbo was looking, she burst out with, “Please, Master Baggins, you can’t tell anyone. I will be sent home in shame, or even punished.”

Bilbo blinked slowly, confused. “Why?”

“Only men are allowed to go on quests and adventures,” the dwarf lass informed him. “Dwarrow women are so few, you see. They’re protected like gold and treasure, and it is the greatest shame to be endangering a dwarrowdam’s life. Not only I would be shamed, but the entire company for not realising it. Particularly my brothers, who are helping, because obviously they know. You simply can’t tell anyone.”

The pale dwarf’s face tugged at Bilbo’s heart with her wide eyes and worried frown. He felt...worried for this little dwarf? No, the hobbit told himself firmly, you mustn’t feel anything but distrust, otherwise…

He shuddered and forced himself out of the dark recesses of his mind. “I won’t tell, Ori, I doubt they’d believe me anyway. I am just a burglar.” Thorin’s glare came to mind. The dwarf king would probably slice him with a sword if he accused a member of the Company of lying.

“Ye, dwarrows are not all that trusting – oh Mahal, Bilbo –“ Ori’s voice rose in alarm. She fluttered her hands about her face, horror struck in her eyes. “What happened to your feet?”

Bilbo flinched. He’d forgotten he’d taken off the fabric. Ori’s eyes were pinned to the tops of his feet, so he drew them up beneath his backside. “It’s nothing, Ori. I don’t want to talk about it.”

With that, Ori withdrew, and Bilbo returned to bathing. He tried to ignore his body, which was hard when he’d taken off his clothes and his secrets were bared to the world. He washed himself as quickly as possible and walked back to the camp, conscious of his feet without their coverings. The only person awake was Fili, who nodded to Bilbo when he returned and paid no heed to his feet in the dark. Bilbo hung up his fabric slips from a tree branch to dry overnight, slipped beneath a blanket and tried to relax.

It wasn’t until he was so tired he no longer cared of being vulnerable that he drifted off.

\---

The hobbit had slept so fitfully that night that he hadn’t been able to dream, which he supposed was a good thing, because he was sure the dwarves did not want to be introduced to his state when having nightmares. When he woke up, his thighs and back creaked and groaned from yesterday’s riding, so he simply stuffed himself further into the blanket than before.

“How should we wake him up?” came a quiet voice from above.

“Do you think he’d get too mad if we dropped a fish on him?”

A snigger. “What if we tickled him? Do you think he’s ticklish?”

“Not sure. What if-“

At that moment, Bilbo decided to poke his head out above his blanket to fix an impressive glare – perhaps even rivalling Thorin’s – at the two troublesome brothers above. They both smiled down innocently. Kili excitedly called to the rest of the dwarves, “Look, he’s even cuter with bed hair!”

The brothers above him were joined by multiple curious dwarves – Bofur, with his funny hat and sleepy eyes; Ori, with way too much knowledge in her eyes after last night; and, surprisingly, Dwalin, who’d peered down for a second and retreated the minute his hand had accidentally brushed against Ori’s arm. Bilbo snuffled his lower face against his blanket, trying to wake up properly, feeling a little flustered that there was a small group staring down at him.

“Burglar!” their leader barked from somewhere behind the twittering dwarves above him. “Are you going to sleep all day?”

Bilbo groaned loudly and flipped his blanket over his face. 

Fili and Kili yanked his blanket off him, causing Bilbo to bolt upright and tuck his naked feet beneath him before anyone could see. The brothers chuckled. “That got him up!”

Bilbo scowled at nothing, folding his arms over his chest. “Hurry up, burglar,” Thorin growled. “We leave soon as possible.”

\---

The trolls were sneering down at the hobbit when he’d been discovered trying to free the ponies. He shuddered in fear, stumbling back before being caught up in one of the troll’s swollen fists. Fili and Kili had no doubt made it back to camp, rousing the dwarves and running off into the forest, in the complete opposite direction of the trolls – and their burglar. He meant nothing to them, he knew, so he closed his eyes and waited to be munched between blunt teeth – not the type of death he’d expected but the death he knew was inevitable around the corner nonetheless.

Instead of horrific pain and the sound of cracking bones, Bilbo heard the battle cries of a large group of dwarves who should be far from here. He tumbled unceremoniously to the ground as the fierce men stabbed and slashed their weapons into the trolls’ thick legs. After the ponies were set free, Bilbo turned in his spot, torn between jumping into the fray and helping those who’d come to his defence yet knowing he’d be useless in a fight.

The swooping emptiness of his belly as he was lifted into the air startled him from indecisive to terrified. The troll grasped the ends of his arms in each hand. “Lay down your arms,” the monster roared, “or I’ll rip ‘is off.”

By now, Bilbo was shivering uncontrollably. He imagined his arms – first pulling out of their sockets, the muscles and tendons tearing, bones fracturing, then finally ripped completely off. Somewhat of a blessing – for he knew dwarves would not appreciate any signs of weakness – he found he was too shocked to cry. 

He peered down at the group, taking in the fiery gaze of Thorin as he threw his sword down as violently as possible. The rest followed Thorin, some surprisingly matching his level of violence. Why had they not simply run, leaving the burglar to his fate and saving the Company? 

This was how they’d ended with half the company tied up to a spit, spinning slowly above a fire, while the rest were bagged in sacks, their heads popping out almost comically. The trolls bickered about the tastiest ways to cook their new dinner.

The spit rolled around again. Dwalin’s glare was positively the scariest thing about the situation. There was concern there too, hidden beneath the anger, which Bilbo thought might be evenly divided between Ori and Thorin, both of whom he could not protect at the current moment. 

Bilbo gritted his teeth, guilt sour on his tongue, and hopped up as best he could in a sack. “I wouldn’t eat them if I were you,” he said in a sing-song voice.

The troll cooking stopped spinning the spit and looked down at the tiny hobbit. “You what?” he said, confused. “Why not?”

“Because they’re dwarves!” he exclaimed. “Haven’t you ever learnt about the dangers of eating a dwarf?”

“We’ve eaten plenty of dwarves!” one replied indignantly.

“Then you must have been very lucky,” Bilbo informed them, trying to sound as confident as possible. “Dwarves, they get so many diseases and pass them on if you eat them, quite horrid things really. I know for a fact everyone here is infected with at least one disease, if not more!”

“What, I don’t have diseases, you have diseases –“ Kili started to call angrily before someone with some kind of sense kicked in the side. 

“I wouldn’t risk it, I really wouldn’t,” Bilbo said, hoping against hope that Kili’s idiotic remark had gone unheard. Thankfully, it seemed to, as they did not take up spinning the spit again, leaving poor Ori’s face pointed down to the fire. Bilbo could see her cheeks reddening.

The trolls grumbled amongst themselves before they turned to Bilbo. “You’re not a dwarf, you don’t look or smell like one,” one of them said, a tad too gleefully. “I bet you don’t have diseases.” He reached down with his grubby paws and lifted Bilbo by the leg, and took a great sniff. The dwarves began to shout. “Not a dwarf,” the troll confirmed to his companions.

“Well don’t you hog him all, I want some too,” they said in response, stomping forward.

It was at that moment Gandalf reappeared, breaking the large stone that was blocking the dawn’s light from reaching its hands down and wresting the life from each troll. They hardened into stone, one fist still closed about Bilbo’s ankle.

He hung there, suspended, until he squeaked, “Um, could someone get me down, please?” Gandalf glanced up from where he was untying the dwarves from the spit and chuckled.

“One moment, my dear hobbit.” After each dwarf had been released, and Ori was pushed towards Oin to treat her mild burns, Gandalf tapped his staff against the stone troll’s hand. It promptly crumbled, leaving the troll a stump for an arm, and Bilbo crashed down and cracked his head on the ground.

To his alarm, the group of dwarves had all turned to stare at him; those who hadn’t were nudged until they also joined in staring. Even Gandalf was frowning, though he had the decency not to stare.

“Those are some mighty battle scars, laddie,” Balin said quietly. He stroked his white beard thoughtfully.

“I – what? I’ve never been in a battle,” Bilbo stuttered, before his veins spiked with cold realisation. He peered down at his feet. One of the slips had been torn up, leaving only a scrap around his ankle. 

On top, where his small patch of fur should be, was instead a land of burn scars, hideously warping the skin beyond recognition.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You all seem to want to know what happened to Bilbo so...here's a little bit. 
> 
> I hope the troll scene wasn't too boring, I know it's been written many times, and much better than I have, but it is rather a main event.
> 
> Thank you again for the bookmarks and kudos, and the couple of comments from you lovely people, you have no idea how much it means to me.


	4. rivendell

Thorin strode angrily to the stricken hobbit, booted feet slamming into the ground. He grabbed the burglar’s arm, none too softly, and lifted him to his feet. “First you nearly get us killed,” he growled, voice surprisingly low – which only made it more threatening somehow. “And by trolls, no less. We’ve had no rest because of you and now you’re making a spectacle of yourself. Make yourself useful and bring us our ponies.” Thorin then all but shoved Bilbo in the general direction of the ponies.

Bilbo stumbled away, blinded by tears he’d hidden by stooping his head forward and letting the curls shadow his face. He ran to his own pony, too ashamed to bring the others forth, no matter what the King had said. 

A noise behind him made him whirl around, still sniffling miserably. Bofur was behind him, his silly hat in his hands, and a concerned look on his face. “Are you alright, Mister Bilbo? Those were harsh words, those were. The King shouldn’t’a said that.”

“I’m…I’m okay.” To his shame, Bilbo hiccupped.

“Do you mind me asking what happened to your feet, Bilbo?” The dwarf’s voice was so hesitant, so gentle even, Bilbo felt a pain deep in his gut just hearing it.

“I was…shamed and rebuffed by the Bree hobbits,” he murmured, brushing his hands through his pony’s mane. “When you’re shamed, they burn your feet so that you don’t grow the hair on them anymore; you know, feet hair is our pride as a hobbit, like I’ve heard beards are to a dwarf. Usually, you only get light burns, enough to scar and stop the hair growing, but nothing…nothing like me. But they were drunk and…very angry...”

Bilbo’s cheeks flushed. “I’m sorry,” he blurted, “you probably didn’t want to know all that.”

Bofur’s mouth was hanging open a little, his eyes wide and alarmed. His hands fluttered about his face, pulling on his moustache. “So it’s like…like our beards getting burnt off?” he stammered. “On – on _purpose_? By another dwarf?”He shuddered. “I’ve heard stories about that happening to those who do truly evil deeds. What did you do that shamed you, Bilbo?”

Bilbo’s face burned and his lips cemented together. He merely shook his head in response, his hands building a tremor. 

Bofur’s eyes softened. “I’m so sorry, Mister Bilbo. Here, let me help you with the ponies…”

\---

Through Gandalf’s guidance, they found themselves at a troll’s cave, where treasures lay hidden within. Bilbo stood outside, refusing to step in due to the dark and the stench. When they emerged again, Gandalf placed a hand on Bilbo’s shoulder and handed him a small, hobbit-sized sword. “Just in case,” the old wizard mumbled, patting Bilbo and wandering off ahead. 

Thorin had also emerged with a new sword. When he turned to catch the hobbit’s gaze on him, his blue eyes narrowed and quickly snapped away. Bilbo flushed and sighed, a small wish growing in his belly that the dwarf wouldn’t hate him so much.

A sudden rustling noise in the surrounding trees shocked the group, many drawing their weapons. A man stumbled from the trees, entirely strange looking, with ratty hair and clothes and a line of bird excrement down the side of his face. The man – a wizard, Bilbo realised, as he saw the staff in his hand – began chattering away to Gandalf. Bilbo did not take interest in the conversation, rather distracted by the frightening sound of a howl too nearby for his liking.

“Wolves?” he asked with a high voice. Deep in his childhood, the Shire had fallen victim to the events of the Fell Winter, and wolves had remained his darkest fear until his coming of age.

“Nay, that is not a wolf,” Bofur replied, face paling.

At that moment, a warg, terrifying in its size and bearing, pounced into the fray of dwarves. The animal was struck down quickly, though it took multiple dwarves to kill it. 

“An orc pack will not be far behind,” Thorin growled. Bilbo trembled and drew his cloak tight in fear.

“The ponies have been scared off!” Ori called, alarmed.

“I’ll draw them off,” the brown wizard said, with a rather gleeful look in his eyes. 

And that was how the group of dwarves, hobbit and wizard found themselves running and hiding, as a mad wizard pulled along by abnormally large rabbits was chased by vicious wargs and their orc riders. 

Bilbo’s heart was lodged in his throat. To make it worse, the orcs then realised the wizard was merely a decoy and turned away in pursuit of the dwarves.

“Here!” Gandalf called, gesturing between rocks. Everyone piled through, tumbling down into what looked like a path under the ground. Bilbo dug his fingernails into his hands until he saw the last of the dwarves fall down, including Thorin.

The sound of an attack above reached Bilbo’s pointed ears, though he could not think who’d come to their rescue. Relatively safe now, they followed the path, though they did not know where it led – or at least, that’s what Bilbo had thought, until he spotted the knowing glint in Gandalf’s eye.

\---

Rivendell. A gorgeous valley, it was, and the elves within it almost as beautiful as the scenery. Gandalf was asking to see Lord Elrond when a group of elves rode in on high horses, almost threatening in the way they circled the dwarves. Bilbo was grabbed by his arm and pushed behind the hardier dwarves, along with Ori. He knew he was being protected, but the sudden rough touch on his arm caused his lungs to seize. Barely even noticing, he hissed, but the sound was lost under the hooves of the horses.

Before long, they found themselves seated, with elven food on the table in front of them. Bilbo quite easily ate it, and gratefully, whereas the dwarves grumbled, pouted and refused to even touch it. “I don’t like green food,” Ori said, a touch despairingly.

The dwarves grew rowdier, and when Bofur began his drinking song, even Bilbo was smiling. When he glanced away from the rowdy dwarf, he found Thorin staring at him with an odd expression on his face. Bilbo raised his eyebrows questioningly, but then the King’s face fell back into his usual scowl.

\---

The elves offered them rooms after dinner, but the dwarves stubbornly turned them down, refusing everything but the barest hint of hospitality. One elf leaned down to Bilbo. “You may use a room, Master Hobbit,” he said liltingly, “if you so wish.”

Thorin’s glare intensified, if that were even possible. “Ah, no, thank you for the kind offer, but I should stick with my – the Company,” Bilbo replied, offering up a small smile of thanks.

They bunkered down around a small fire, as if they were not in the middle of the most beautiful place Bilbo had ever seen. The hobbit found himself drifting off, lulled to a peaceful state by the deep undertones of the dwarves’ voices. He sunk down in his cloak, eyes fluttering closed, a yawn tucked into the corner of his mouth.

\---

_Bilbo was staring at troll feet, terrified and choking on his own blood. A bittery taste, he thought distantly. He shivered, felt the large fist grab his feet and lift him up, now swinging upside down. He was alone, in the dark forest, with a troll preparing to swallow him whole._

_“This one’s mine,” the troll snarled. Beneath the troll-grumble, Bilbo recognised the voice. His heart stuttered, his chest felt ready to shatter. When he looked up, the trolls face had morphed into another, a face looming out of his past and dragging him down the pit, to where hands scrabbled and scratched for traction, digging into his skin, the hobbit opened his mouth and screamed, tearing his ribs right open, freeing the monster in his lungs…_

There were multiple dwarves around him when his eyes shot open, and this caused him to scream louder, tearing at his throat, as he propelled himself backward. He could distantly hear his name being called, could see elves a little way away with confusion and concern lined in their pale faces.

A dream, he realised, and not even one of the worst ones he’d had. He stuffed his fist in his mouth to quiet the screams turning into whimpers, and yanked his cloak over his head. Every dwarf could probably see the cloak shaking with the hobbit’s trembling, but he was too busy trying to forget that face to care much.

“What has the hobbit done this time?” Thorin grumbled, sounding as though he’d just risen from slumber. He stomped over, and Bilbo glanced up, fear in his eyes, flinching back from their leader. Thorin’s blue eyes immediately softened.

The dwarf knelt down beside the shuddering hobbit.”Are you okay?” he asked, surprisingly softly.

“I’m sorry,” Bilbo choked out. “Go back to sleep, I…”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Thorin said firmly. He waved away the other dwarves, Bofur being the last to return to his bedroll. “Now what was it that frightened you so much?”

“J-just a dream.”

“Some dream,” the King muttered. He gathered up a blanket in his calloused hands and wrapped it around Bilbo tightly, then rearranged himself to allow Bilbo’s head to rest on his shoulder. It wasn’t soft, being a dwarf, but Bilbo still found his shudders easing, then eventually disappearing altogether. Why Thorin was suddenly being so kind, the hobbit was too exhausted to care.

By the morning, he was alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and university has begun, updates will slow down i'm afraid.  
> thank you for reading, as always.


	5. goblins

They left Rivendell secretly, footsteps furtive and relieved expressions decorating most of the dwarves’ faces. Kili, perhaps, was the only dwarf who seemed to appreciate the ethereal beauty of the elven valley and its occupants; though he kept this part of himself hidden well, Bilbo recognised it in the split-second awed glances he shot around his surroundings. Similar to the way Bilbo felt about the valley too.

They were now on foot, as they’d lost their ponies before Rivendell. This didn’t bother the hobbit, his hardy feet crunching on rocks and twigs. In fact, he preferred this method of travelling, even if it did dirty his fabric flaps much more quickly. 

\---  
Later they found themselves soaked to the bone and struggling along a mountain’s edge. Blbo could barely open his eyes to see where he was putting each large foot. Far too often for comfort, he slipped on the wet rocks and sometimes would have fallen over the sharp ledge if it weren’t for Bofur behind him and Bifur in front, catching his arm every so often.

His blood ran cold suddenly. The rocks beneath his already unsteady feet were shifting. “What’s going on?” Kili called from wherever he was positioned on the mountain. Bilbo could not see one foot in front of him.

“The myths are true!” Balin said, unreasonably calm for the situation. “This is a mountain battle.”

Indeed, when Bilbo, against his better judgement, opened his eyes wider and looked out from the ledge, he could see the other mountains breaking apart and forming giant-like figures. They lashed at each other, throwing large boulders at another, violently inflicting harm upon other rock giants. 

It was with fear trickling down his throat that Bilbo realised that if the rock beneath his feet was also moving, it meant they were standing on their own rock giant.

What followed was a blur. Mountains moved, huge boulders crumbled against more rock, and Bilbo found his feet sliding out from underneath him. The world below loomed out as his hands scrambled for purchase. A new kind of terror lodged in the veins beside his furiously beating heart. He’d lived so much of his life afraid, an old stale kind of fear, that this taste of pure adrenalised was a shock, and not entirely unpleasant. For a moment, hanging there, he considered letting go, if only just to feel something more before his death.

He supposed dying by dragonfire might also give him this feeling, but with more pain. His fingers grew weaker on the slippery edge.

From above, he heard a familiar voice crying out his name. Then a few more dwarven voices joined in, a chorus of Bilbos on a mountain ledge. A soft sensation settled in Bilbo’s gut. An odd feeling he couldn’t put a name to. Something he hadn’t felt since his parents’ personalities filled every inch of Bag End. 

Multiple hands extended over the ledge when they discovered the hobbit hanging by his bare fingertips. He couldn’t reach them. Not a single hand could pull him up from this dangerous ledge he was hanging from. 

A sudden presence radiated from beside him, a much larger form than the little hobbit. Bilbo felt a rough hand grab his arm and, with tremendous strength, propel him up towards the reaching dwarven hands above him. As Bilbo was hauled over the edge, the presence slipped, now in the same precarious position he was in originally. It was Thorin, he noticed with dismay and fear lodged in his throat. But before he could even begin to shout Thorin’s name, Dwalin had yanked him back up into relative safety.

The whole sequence of events probably only lasted a few seconds, but an entire lifetime had passed since Bilbo’s feet had stood firmly on these rocks. 

“We nearly lost our hobbit!” Bofur exclaimed with relief etched into his voice.

“He’s been lost ever since he left home,” Thorin growled, brushing past to lead from the front of the group. “He should never have come.” 

Bilbo’s heartbeat stilled. Lost…ever since he left home. It was true, wasn’t it? He didn’t belong outside the realms of the Shire; he’d learnt this the hard way before, why was he inviting the world to teach him the same lesson again? 

The rest of the walk passed by in a blur until they came to a cave in the side of the mountain – a place for shelter and rest overnight. Exhausted and worn down to the bone, everyone immediately set up their makeshift beds and started snoring. Bilbo hunkered under his blanket, listening to the sounds of sleeping dwarves echo around the rock walls.

Thorin’s words swam around his head. His disappointed face merged with others…the hardened faces of Bree hobbits. _Look what you’ve done to yourself…You should’ve stayed in the Shire, where they wouldn’t have even allowed you the freedom to disgrace yourself…_

Bilbo shook himself from his blankets, quietly bundling them up. He could not stand the crawling of his skin, the unfamiliarity of his surroundings; he hiked up his bag on his back and began walking through the sea of dwarves to the outside world. 

Bofur, who was on watch, scurried over. “What are you doing, Bilbo?” he whispered.

“I’m going home,” the hobbit replied, quietly but firmly with a small element of sadness dug under his words. “I don’t belong here, do I? I’m not a burglar. I’m not someone who goes on quests. I belong at home…well, I don’t belong there either, but more than here. I just, I have to leave. I’ve been nothing but a disgrace and I can’t bring the company down too.’

“A disgrace?” Bofur blinked, confused. “Bilbo, you can’t leave the company! We need you here – what is that?”

And that was when they all quite literally descended into chaos.

\---  
The faces of the goblins were horribly deformed and discoloured, peering in on all sides. Bilbo’s breath lodged in his throat; he could not glance around him without the beady evil eyes of these creatures clouding his vision. 

They were moved along, roughly and quite painfully if Bilbo was totally honest, and although the hobbit could not see his companions, he was sure they were buried among the body parts of goblins with him. It wasn’t long before they were brought before the grotesque goblin king, with large random lumps that were alike tumours and a strange cunning that was absent among the goblin horde.

“Who dares to enter my kingdom?” the large goblin roared. He peered closer. “Dwarves? What is your purpose here?” None of the dwarves answered, many raising their chins defiantly. “Fine! I don’t mind how we get you to talk. Bring out the bone cruncher!” The great goblin scrutinised them all, then grinned down at Ori with her knitted mittens and young face, which was not helped by her subtle femininity. “We will start with the youngest.”

Ori whimpered, an action that would probably be regretted much later. Dori barred his teeth in anger and jumped in front of his younger sister. To Bilbo’s surprise, he also noticed Dwalin protectively situating himself in front of Ori. Bilbbo wondered if he perhaps suspected or knew of Ori’s hidden gender. That would explain his odd show of protectiveness usually reserved for Thorin.

“Oh, and who is this? Not a dwarf at all, are you?” To Bilbo’s horror, the goblin king lowered his eyes to stare straight at him. Multiple small goblins pushed him forwards, out to the front of the company. Bilbo tried to shrink back, to no avail.

“A Halfling!” the great goblin cackles. “I thought your kind never left your warm homes. And to see one in the company of dwarves, how very odd indeed…” He trailed off, narrowing his beady eyes in thought. He barked something Bilbo didn’t quite catch to one of the goblins nearest him. With a gasp, Bilbo saw the goblin creep towards him. He stumbled back, but the goblins around him held him in place. 

The scraps of fabric over his feet were torn off by the approaching goblin. Discomfort and confusion washed over the hobbit – why were they interested in his feet? 

“Ah, of course,” the goblin king sneers. “This Halfling. There is a pretty price on you alive, by a group of dwarves as well, to my understanding.” The king flicks his eyes over Bilbo’s companions. “Obviously not these ones, I’m guessing. Tie him up!”

Before Bilbo knew it, his arms and ankles were bound and he was being dragged away from his group. Bofur and Ori stared after him with clearly horrified and worried stares, while the others kept their expressions carefully guarded. Before Bilbo was pulled out of sight entirely, he saw a peculiar emotion whip across Thorin’s face, barely a second long of unguarded fear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i am so sorry i haven't posted in a while, i've had a super hard time lately, i started university which is a lot more intense than i thought it would be, and i came out to my parents which was the worse possible thing i couldve done. and also i wrote half this chapter and then lost it when my computer crashed. so, uh, really sorry for this long overdue chapter. i will try and keep up, i can't promise therewont be decent waits between chapters, but i promise i wont abandon it. thanks for reading, as always.


	6. escape

To say he was terrified was an understatement. 

Bilbo’s mind was frozen, his thoughts stopped mid-track. He could not even register the pain of being dragged over spindly wooden slabs, sometimes leaving splinters under his skin. A group of dwarves was offering money for his capture…alive. 

He knew who they were. He knew they’d been looking for him since he’d left Bree. That was why he hid in his house and never left, should they ever find their way to the Shire, as they inevitably would. What he did not know was that they were offering money for him now, that in their unsuccessful search they’d essentially employed everyone to keep an eye out for him.

He would have to keep his hood up from now on, he decided, if he ever got out of this mess in the first place. 

At that moment, the goblins unceremoniously threw him into a makeshift cage – rickety and unsteady but effective nonetheless. They locked the door closed and left, no guard needed, which Bilbo discovered was because of the sheer strength of the cage. Despite its appearance, no matter how often he threw himself against it, it did not even shift let alone break. 

The fear heavy in his gut only doubled when he thought of his dwarves back amongst the goblin horde, whose weapons had been taken and were standing for judgement of the goblin king. _The bone crusher_ …Bilbo shuddered to imagine what that was like. And poor Ori. Bilbo dearly hoped they escaped before anything to her.

With a lack of guards around, Bilbo was free to study the rope binding his arms and legs. It was sturdy, but perhaps not of the best quality. He found that, with difficultly and a lot of wriggling, he could wrangle his arms underneath his backside and legs to bring them out in front. Once done, he began chewing at the rope with his teeth.

Uncomfortable and slow work, Bilbo’s anxiety propelled him to violently chew through the aching in his gums. He had to get these undone before any goblins came back. It took what felt like days to finally chew through the rope. He quickly tore it off his wrists, trying – and failing – to ignore the pain all through his jaw, then untied the rope around his ankles.

Once unbound, Bilbo had the freedom to explore his cage. The bars were made of a thick wood, tied together with some sort of vine in complicated notes. He wouldn’t be able to break out of it, not with his little hobbit strength. Instead he focused on the lock and the entryway.

The entrance was quite small; he’d been thrust in headfirst, he remembered. As a hobbit, he could walk through it with a bowed back, but any man would have to crawl. The lock that held it shut was a large padlock linked around two bars of timber. Simple but it did its job.

With careful fingernails, Bilbo gauged out a small sliver of wood. He didn’t know how to pick locks but he had a vague understanding from when he was an adolescent and one of his Took cousins had taken him to steal food from a particularly unpleasant neighbour. The cousin had briefly explained how to pick a lock when asked by the curious Bilbo. And that, unfortunately, was the extent of his knowledge.

His fingers kept slipping as he inserted the splinter into the padlock. Sweat, maybe, from fear. Any moment now a goblin could come back and smash his head to the ground, rendering him unconscious until…until they come for him. The dwarves he never wanted to see again.

After what seemed like an eternity, the lock clicked and released. Bilbo’s hands were shaking with the effort it took to keep them steady. As he carefully wriggled out of the cage entrance, Bilbo felt something on the ground shift beneath his hip.

A ring…What on earth was a ring doing here, of all places? Bilbo shuddered – it must have belonged to a previous occupant, dropped when they were hauled out to whatever cruel destiny the goblins had decided for them. The hobbit considered leaving it behind – it was just a ring after all – but a strange feeling seized him. Such a precious ring shouldn’t be left behind in this awful, desolate place. He stuffed it in his pocket without a second thought.

When Bilbo was free of the cage, he realised he had no idea which way to go, which way led to the outside world. But he couldn’t stay in one spot, no matter what he did – so he followed the path. He ran along it and made random guesses at crossroads. Soon, he found himself hearing chaotic noises, and he followed his ears instead of his feet.

Perhaps he would have been safer heading away from the noise, but he needed to find the company – and these noises were starting to sound a lot like fighting. And who would be stupid enough to fight an entire horde of goblins and their king? Only a certain group of thirteen dwarves.

He came out to a sudden parallel path, on which the other side were his company. They had retrieved their weapons and were fighting through a path through the goblins, mostly by simply knocking them off the edge. Where Bilbo was standing, it was quite shadowy and there were no goblins; he slunk back and pulled up his hood, hoping to remain a part of the shadows.

He ran along the path, copying the footsteps of the dwarves, hoping that at some point their two paths would merge. Hopefully when the goblin crowd had thinned out a little. 

Eventually they came to a point where a bridge joined the two paths. But to cross it would draw the attention of the goblins, and Bilbo had no weapon or fighting skill to speak of. He couldn’t be left behind, though, not in this miserable place. Not to be handed over to his worst fear.

The hobbit gulped back his terror and, as the dwarf group drew up near the bridge, he hurtled himself across.

Of course, a hobbit’s small legs could not get him across with the type of speed he’d need to safely make it among the dwarf ranks. Two goblins, closest to the bridge’s end, spotted him immediately and made their way onto it. Their mutilated grins spiked horror through Bilbo’s veins. 

Bilbo tried to dodge as one went to grab for him, and its fist clipped him across the shoulder. As he struggled past the two goblins, a sharp pain dug deep into his side. He pushed further through, putting in as much strength as he possibly could. One of the goblins lost its footing on the unstable bridge and tumbled over; one thing Bilbo could be grateful for as a hobbit was his continuously steady stand.

The other goblin turned on him, barring its teeth in a screech. It held a ragged-edge dagger in its deformed hands, which he slashed out wildly. As it buried deep into Bilbo’s cheek, a whistling noise somehow caught his attention amidst the pain. An arrow had planted itself in one of the goblin’s eyes. 

When Bilbo turned back to the company, he saw Kili slam the blunt edge of his bow into the back of a goblin’s head, his quiver one arrow short, Bilbo knew. 

Somehow, Bilbo made it amongst the dwarves and was promptly pulled into the middle, right next to Ori who was trembling but held her mouth in a fierce line. 

On the other side was Bofur, his woollen hat crooked on his head. He flashed Bilbo a grin and said something along the lines of being glad their burglar hadn’t left, but it was a little difficult to catch what he was saying as he swung his mattock into a goblin’s jaw.

Gandalf had joined them, Bilbo realised with a surprised jolt. He led the dwarven company, his grey pointed hat jutting high above those around him. Bilbo wasn’t quite sure why he hadn’t noticed him originally, but felt decidedly reassured with a wizard to help them escape from this goblin-infested mountain. 

Eventually, after a long blur of dwarf and goblin limbs flying everywhere, the company spilled out into the sunlight like blood from a gash. They continued running, far down the mountainside despite the safety of the sunlight, with a need to put distance between themselves and the angry goblins hiding just inside the shadowy entrance.

When they finally came to a stop, Bilbo’s lungs were heaving and his eyesight was pocketed with black. A few of the dwaves collapsed where they were standing. Thorin glanced around sharply. “We don’t rest for long,” he barked. Then he turned his piercing gaze on the hobbit. “Master burglar. What happened when they took you away? Are you injured?” With the second question, his eyes flickered to Bilbo’s cheek, which was ugly with clotting blood.

“I…don’t know,” Bilbo said quietly, a frown forming along his eyebrows. “They took me to a cage, I escaped and eventually found the company…I think a goblin got me with a dagger?”

Oin, who had already given up listening to the conversation, was already inspecting his cheek. The old dwarf checked him over for other injuries; mainly minor scrapes and bruises apart from the deep gaping slash down his side. “It needs to be stitched, Thorin,” the healer said with concern in the corners of his mouth.

“We don’t have time,” Thorin replied, voice raised for Oin’s benefit, who already had his ear trumpet in position. “Do what you can to stop bleeding enough, but we have to leave long before nightfall.”

Oin nodded shortly, digging deep into his bag of supplies, which he’d somehow clung to all through the goblin tunnels. Bilbo swayed on his feet as the dwarf pulled out a bandage. 

It was just as Oin was unrolling the bandage that the howls of wargs echoed through the trees. There would be no time to patch the wound yet.

As the group began to run again, Bilbo felt his head swim, and wondered if he simply fainted in that moment whether the dwarves would leave him behind, to the mercy of sharp warg teeth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You all left such lovely, lovely comments, so a new chapter with not even near as much wait time as last one. I know it doesn't answer many questions but hopefully at least some will be answered in the next couple of chapters. Seriously thank you all so much for reading, and like taking the time to comment means so much to me.


	7. azog

The image of the warg’s snapping teeth just missing tearing into Bilbo’s ankle was not something he was like to forget anytime soon. He had only just managed to leap up and grab hold of the branch; Dwalin had seen him hanging there and trying to pull himself up with little upper body strength and had yanked him to his feet on the thick branch. One of his foot coverings fluttered to the ground. He’d have to make another one, he thought dimly.

He couldn’t bring himself to focus on the orcs bursting out of the trees on terrifying wargs. One of the orcs, however, simply refused to remain unnoticed. A great pale orc, he was, with deep scars running through his skin like rivers. The hobbit heard Dwalin take in a startled breath. “What?” Bilbo whispered. “What is it?”

“It is Azog,” the burly dwarf growled. One glance at Thorin and his shocked, angry face confirmed the statement. 

The pale orc roared an order to his small group of followers behind him. In a flash, the wargs were snapping their deadly jaws into the trees, slamming their bodies against the trunks. One by one, the trees fell into each other, until only one remained caught to the ground by its roots. 

“Ori,” Dwalin whispered, so low Bilbo nearly didn’t catch it. Following the dwarf’s gaze, he found Dori hanging from a branch with the vast emptiness below him, and Ori clinging to his leg. 

It was because of this distraction that Dwalin missed his leader marching into battle against Azog without his protection. Bilbo turned back to see Thorin grasped between the teeth of a warg, his mouth opened in a silent scream. He was flung to the side and, with horror, Bilbo watched as the pale orc dismounted and brought up his mace, ready to swing it down on the motionless dwarf. 

He wasn’t sure what made him do it. He wasn’t quite sure how he even managed to slam his little body so hard into the massive orc that they both stumbled aside. He wasn’t sure how he’d managed to slash his small sword across the orc’s side before he was thrown away with a roar of fury from Azog.

Despite the pain in his side and the ache emanating from his shoulder, Bilbo rose from where he fell and planted himself in front of Thorin. If Azog wanted to get to Thorin, he’d have to kill him first…Something he could probably do with ease but would hopefully at least buy enough time that Thorin regained consciousness and took up his sword.

_So long as he wasn’t dead…_

Azog hadn’t even advanced two steps towards the hobbit, a furious snarl on his face before the other dwarves had launched themselves against the orc pack. Dwalin and Bofur both struck their weapons into Azog before he growled, leapt back onto his mount and left the battle, with the knowledge that he would not be killing Thorin tonight. 

And then the eagles arrived. 

The flight to the Carrock went by in a blur of _please don’t let him be dead, please don’t let him be dead,_ and _please let the other dwarves be okay, I don’t want anyone to be hurt._

When his feet were standing firmly on rock, he glanced around, quickly assessing the health of the dwarves. No one seemed overly hurt: scratches and bruises and the occasional deep gash, but that was it. Only Thorin was lying on his back, his clothes bloody and face somehow too relaxed. Gandalf was crouched over him, murmuring words Bilbo couldn’t understand, his wizened fingers touching numerous spots on Thorin’s chest.

And then, thank all the gods in the world, his eyes opened. Thorin shoved himself up onto his elbows, immediately growling, “The burglar?”

“He’s just fine, he’s over-“ 

Bilbo’s vision turned black.

\---  
“Do you think he’s okay?” a voice whispered from above him. Kili, he thinks; the voice has such a youthful quality to it.

“Aye, Oin said he’ll be fine, jus’ needs to rest and eat when he wakes, he lost a lot of blood, see.” Bofur’s voice is immediately recognisable, with an accent embedded against his words.

“Do you remember what the goblins said?” Kili murmured. A pause followed, then, “About the dwarves looking for Bilbo or something?”

“Aye,” Bofur sighs. “It was probably a mistake. Dwarves don’ hunt anyone apart from orcs and goblins and those tha’ deserve to be hunted. I don’t know, lad. Perhaps you should ask Bilbo when he wakes.”

“Thorin’s going to throw someone off the edge of this cliff if he doesn’t wake soon.” Fili this time, Bilbo knew. How odd that he was beginning to recognise the dwarves just by their voices.

He must have been out for a long time, for Thorin to be so angry, must have delayed them for far too long. But, Bilbo thought with irritation, if he dared offer a scathing remark he can be sure to offer one back, after saving him, at least momentarily, from Azog.

His eyes fluttered open and a number of faces crowded his sight. Fili and Kili both looked down on him with concern, as did Ori’s shy face. When he turned his head, he saw Bofur seated beside him, carving something with a small dagger and a bit of wood. 

“The burglar is awake?” came a rough voice. Thorin suddenly stood over Bilbo’s form. His face was drawn tight with what almost looked like worry. 

The other dwarves scattered. 

Thorin offered his hand. Confused, Bilbo simply stared at it. With a raised eyebrow, Thorin said, “I am trying to help you up, Master Burglar.”

“Oh…” the hobbit murmured before accepting. This had to be probably the only hint of kindness Thorin had ever shown him. He swayed on his feet a little before he regained balance.

And then he’d been engulfed in a warm scent and the slightly scratchy feel of fur on his face. Thorin was…hugging him?

A dwarf. A dwarf had his arms around him, arms that could so easily…

Bilbo’s mind went blank.

He could no longer feel the presence around him. Everything was a rush, a blur, too much of everything. He thought maybe he was shaking, the world was so unstable, a rising feeling was stuck in his throat, his lungs ached, ached –

A dark warmth descended around him, tight, yet safe. The ache in his lungs eased as he remembered to breathe. His heart beat against its chest, gradually calming.

“Is he okay? Master Baggins, are you able to hear me?” Thorin sounded so…worried, confused.

“Aye, he’ll be okay,” Bofur’s voice sounded so close to Bilbo. “I think he had a panic attack, but he seems to be calming down alright now.”

Bilbo wriggled his head around and the darkness fell back. It was a blanket, he realised, and the tightness was Bofur with his arms around him. The hobbit blinked at the dwarf, kind of confused as to how this happened. But with the blanket in the way, he found the panic was not going to choke the life out of him.

Bofur grinned and released his hold. “Okay, Bilbo? You gave Thorin a right scare, you did.”

Bilbo glanced up uneasily, sure Thorin would be angry. But his face held only concern and a surprising amount of understanding. “It’s about those dwarves, isn’t it? The ones that are looking for you.”

The blood drained out of Bilbo’s face. He couldn’t have them knowing, just couldn’t stand the disgust on his dwarf friends’ faces. He shook his head silently, lips pressed together. “Shouldn’t we be…I don’t know, walking?” the hobbit rasped.

And so they continued on their journey, and Bilbo tried to pretend he couldn’t hear the curious whispers of the dwarves around him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> when you were totally planning on making Bilbo fall head over heels for Thorin, and then Bofur decides to stick his head in. and now i dont know which one i prefer.
> 
> thoughts?


	8. beorn

Before too long, the company found themselves in the remarkably large house of…well, nobody really knew who. Gandalf was remaining tight lipped, refusing to answer any questions the dwarves had. Everything was remarkably large, even besides Gandalf, who towered over the Company. 

“Rest,” Gandalf said shortly after a quick meal. The night outside the odd lodgings was already dark, and growing darker by the minute. Bilbo found a corner a little ways from the main Company, the hay making it the most comfortable resting place they’d had since Rivendell. For the first time in a long time, Bilbo slipped gratefully into a deep sleep.

Bilbo peered down the hazy rocky path, blinking blurriness from his vision. He was on his way through Bree, he knows. Singing under his breath, he drew his green coat around his plump form. Evening settled comfortable around him as he made his way to the most popular inn in the small town. 

On a little adventure, he thought to himself with small amusement. He’d been to Bree before, but never by himself, always with his Took-bred mother. His mother had passed years before and he’d finally decided it was time for his own venturing. 

Bilbo booked a hobbit-sized room, then took his place at a table, stomach growling as he’d not been able to follow the usual seven meals a day. A young lass stopped by his table to take his order, chubby face lifted in a smile. As she walked away, skirts swishing, Bilbo caught sight of a little group of dwarves near the back, one of which whose dark eyes had focused on the young little hobbit his table.

Bilbo thrust out of his dream – his memories – with violence and fear. His blanket had tangled around himself and he could not tear himself free. The last of his dream slipping away from his skin, Bilbo blinked around himself, chest heaving. Nori and Ori were the only dwarves who’d noticed his distress. 

“Master Baggins,” Nori said evenly, cleaning out his nails with a short knife. “Night terrors?”

Ori merely frowned with concern.

“Nay,” Bilbo replied, cursing his slightly breathless voice. “I got too hot and the blanket got tangled. Sorry if I disturbed you.”

Nori’s lips thinned, a strange look over his face. Then he shrugged, patted Ori on the shoulder and left. 

“Our host is back,” Gandalf piped up suddenly. “Now, he is not, ahem, overly fond of dwarves, so perhaps Mister Baggins and I should greet him first…”

“Me?” Bilbo squeaked. Dwalin stifled a snort into his beard.

Their host, Beorn, was possibly the largest man Bilbo had ever seen – if he was indeed a man. He was as hairy and broad as a dwarf, as tall as a troll, and as terrifying as…well, Bilbo wasn’t entirely sure, but he did feel intimidated staring up at the giant man. 

Surprisingly, he seemed to take to the dwarves, despite his initial distrust. Just as he did eventually, Bilbo thought quietly. 

After reciting their tale to Beorn, mostly told with Thorin’s deep voice, the occasional correction by almost every member of the Company, Fili and Kili took it upon themselves to pepper their host with questions. And that was how Bilbo discovered Beorn was a Skin-changer, that he was the last of his kind. The hobbit swallowed, trying to imagine if he were the only hobbit left in all of Middle Earth…The thought was alarming.

When breakfast was finished, Bilbo wandered from Beorn’s house to where he’d said there was a little bubbling stream. Not enough to actually bathe, of course, but delightfully cool and clean. There he sat, scrubbing at his feet in the water. Grooming his feet, something all hobbits took pleasure in doing, was difficult now but he still tried when he could stomach it. 

Dirt and rock and blood were encrusted so thickly over his soles, he found it would be a much longer job than originally thought.

His left foot clean, he moved on to the other, as a dwarf appeared by his side. Bilbo startled, then glanced to his side, shocked and nervous to find the dwarf king seated beside him. The hobbit opened his mouth to say something, then decided against it, and began to scrub at his right sole.

For a short while, Thorin shuffled beside him, making small movements as Bilbo busied himself. “Here,” the dwarf king said roughly, shoving something into Bilbo’s hands, standing and moving away almost as quickly. 

It was two scraps of fabric, exactly the right size for the hobbit’s large feet, taken from the cleanest part of Thorin’s tunic. Something clogged in Bilbo’s throat. He ran his roughened fingertips over the material, a dark blue.

When his feet were finally clean, he tied the material around his ankle, letting it flop over his feet. It felt almost like a shield against the outside world. He felt something loosen in his chest, something he didn’t know was wound so tight. 

\---

When they left Beorn, Bilbo was sorry to leave. He felt safe there, with the Skin-changer and his animals and the strange too-large furniture. They made their way to Mirkwood on borrowed ponies. As they were riding, Nori came up beside him to ride abreast.

“Ori tells me you know about his…situation,” the thief says by way of greeting.

“Yes,” Bilbo replied, unsure why he was bringing it up.

“Why did you not tell Thorin?” the dwarf asks quietly.

“Why would I?” Bilbo voice was tinted with confusion. “It is not my secret to tell. Nor do I think Ori should be punished because…well, you know.”

“I thought it might be because you were a woman,” Nori said, far too casually.

Bilbo bristled. “Excuse me, are you saying I look like a woman? I can assure you, hobbit women look very different to how I look.”

“It wasn’t that actually, it was just that you never bathe with us.” Nori shrugged. “Everyone just thinks you’re shy, but you bathe at completely different times to us, not just away from us.”

“How do you know that?” Bilbo’s face creased in a frown. He thought he’d been reasonably sneaky with his bathing times.

“I notice things. I am a thief after all.” Nori’s grin, quick as it was, carried a hint of wickedness.

\---

They made camp just inside the trees of Mirkwood. Not far enough in to feel the sickness yet, but far enough to know that something was off with the forest. Gandalf could not be consulted on this matter, as he had left just outside the wood, saying he would return when he could.

As Bilbo slurped on his stew, Fili and Kili collapsed beside him. Kili’s face was furrowed in confusion. “Master Boggins,” he began, “what did the Goblin King mean when he said a group of dwarves would pay to find you? I didn’t know you’d met any dwarves before us!”

The chattering in the Company abruptly stopped.

Bilbo cleared his throat awkwardly. “Um, well, I have been out of the Shire before, Kili,” he said slowly. “I went to Bree with my mother many times, and sometimes dwarves would pass through there.”

“Do you know who’s looking for you?” Kili’s face brightened for a moment. “Maybe you caught someone’s eye. Sometimes dwarves can be awfully romantic, you know. You should hear Gloin talking about his wife…”

“Hmm,” Bilbo mumbled non-committedly. He hoped desperately Kili would stop asking questions. It was making his skin crawl.

“So? Who are they, maybe we know them?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry this is so late. I have 0 inspiration. Anyone wanna talk about things they would like to see happen/think might happen/any thoughts on the dwarves or anything? it might help me write faster. anyway sorry again.


	9. mirkwood

Bilbo opened his mouth, snapped it shut again. “Kili…” he murmured. “They’re not friends of mine.”

Kili’s young face immediately fell into a frown. “Then why are they looking for you?”

“Because…” What could he tell him? What could he say when the entire company was listening in? “They weren’t…They aren’t good dwarves.”

“Not good dwarves?” Fili’s voice was indignant. “What does that mean? The dwarf race is honourable and decent. I haven’t met a single dwarf I would not call good!”

“I am tired, Fili, Kili,” Bilbo sighed. “I will see you in the morning.” With that, Bilbo set down his half-full bowl of stew and walked to his pack, quickly crawling under his blanket when his makeshift bed was set up. He buried his head in warmth and closed his eyes. An aching was spreading from the bottom of his gut outwards.

\---

“Should we be worried about tha’ hobbit?” Dwalin’s voice was gruff when he slumps down beside Thorin. The king puffed on his pipe.

“Why?” Each dwarf sounded equally as grumpy as the other.

“He said somethin’ about bad dwarves lookin’ for him. Why would dwarves look for him?”

“Maybe they’re not,” Thorin mused. “Could be he’d just met some unfriendly dwarrows before, and the Goblin King was mistaken in his information.”

Dwalin grunted. “Jus’ don’t want there to be any trouble.”

“If you’re worried about Ori, he can handle himself, you know.” Thorin sounded almost amused.

In response, Dwalin’s cheeks pinked. “I don’ know wha’ you're talkin’ ‘bout,” he grumbled. And stormed away rather comically.

\---

The days passed with brushed away questions and worsening tempers. The very air in Mirkwood seemed sick. The farther they walked, the more eyes peered out from the darkness, the more their feet dragged, the more unpleasant each day became.

It came on slowly at first. A few dark flecks floating in the hobbit’s vision. Sometimes he would feel something brush by his calves, but when he’d look down there would be nothing.

It was late afternoon when he glanced up into the face of his nightmares. His beard was black and grey, well combed, and his eyes were wicked. Bilbo stumbled back, his lungs crumpled in his throat. “You can’t be here…” he whispered.

“Master Baggins?” His voice came out garbled…wrong, confused. Without realising it, Bilbo had fallen to the ground. His fingernails dug into the dirt. 

In his panic, he felt a strange calling, an itch in his fingertips. It seemed someone else was controlling his hand when he reached into his pocket and pulled out the little golden ring from the cage. He’d completely forgotten about it. Now, unsure what compelled him to do so, he slipped the ring onto his finger.

Instantly, a cold, dark feeling washed over him. Shaking it off, he looked back and saw the dwarf was Balin…His nightmare was nowhere to be seen. 

Only, there was a very different nightmare taking place. All the members of the company was wandering about, confused and sickened by the forest. In their unawareness, horrifyingly large spiders were descending from above. Bilbo’s stomach turned over. He knew calling out a warning wouldn’t do anything useful – the dwarves were all so sick, they would probably pull swords on each other rather than the spiders.

Bilbo slunk behind a tree. He wasn’t exactly sure why the forest sickness was no longer affecting him – or at least not in the same way. His stomach was twisting and nauseous, and his vision blurry, the occasional dark fleck skimming across, but at least he was not hallucinating.

He pressed a shaking hand to his mouth as he watched the spiders stab each dwarf with their poison, then wrapped them tight in spiderwebs. Tears dotted his eyes, as a dark, slimy fear shot through his veins. His dwarves, he had no idea if they were even still alive. 

It was a little alarming to the hobbit how clearly and deeply he’d come to care for this company. 

He squared his shoulders and followed the spiders as quickly and silently as he could. Somehow, they did not notice him, instead stringing up each dwarf by the thick webs. He scrambled up the trees, to where he could reach some of the sacks.

Without even thinking, he tore a branch of the tree and threw it as hard as he could in the opposite direction. The spiders skittered off, leaving one rather large to watch over their captured prey. Bilbo approached this spider with his little sword out in front of him, mouth pressed in a tight line.

It took several tense confusing moments before Bilbo realised the spider could not see him. He glanced at the ring on his finger. The hobbit had only heard of magic rings in his storybooks, and somehow he’d come to own one. 

He shook these thoughts from his head, let out a rather weak war cry, and charged the spider. With as much skill as a babe waving a rattle, he tried desperately to find somewhere his sword could pierce. The spider screeched, maddened, and Bilbo could a glimpse of its flickering eyes. Shuddering, he plunged the sword into its eye, drew it back, and struck again. 

The spider fell to the ground below. 

Any moment the other spiders could come skittering back, and the hobbit knew he could in no way fight more than one. He danced around the branches, cutting each sack down, wincing a little as the dwarves slammed to the ground. He dropped below when all had fallen, slipped his magic ring off, and cut away the strands on the nearest sack.

A pale face was made visible. It was Fili, his blond braids stuck to his chin with webbing. “Fili, Fili, wake up!” Bilbo said urgently. “The spiders will be back soon, I need help to free the others.” 

He shook the unconscious body violently, breathed a sigh of relief when the dwarf’s eyes opened, unfocused but alive. 

With Fili’s help, he managed to free the dwarves, most of which could not even stand. Some were worse off than others – poor Bombur could not keep his eyes open for more than a few seconds at a time.

To Bilbo’s alarm, he could hear the large skittering spiders again, creeping up behind. 

What followed next was a blur. There were spiders, and elves, and poisoned dwarves, and blood, and enraged yelling, and bound dwarves, and a solemn marching group through the forest. In that, they had overlooked Bilbo, and he’d put on his ring to make sure they continued to overlook him, and he followed the group entirely silent on his feet.

\---

Thranduil’s kingdom was beautiful in the opposite way as Rivendell: cold and unforgiving, an intimidating stare from a stranger. The dwarves were marched to stand in front of Thranduil’s throne. Even in his unkempt state, Thorin managed to draw himself up in a stance that expressed his disdain for the elven king.

Bilbo listened with half an ear as Thorin and Thranduil made angry grand statements to each other about honour and purpose and who knows what else. He was trying to think of a way to escape with his company in tow, but how could he, when the dwarves had been entirely relieved of their weapons and were still unsteady on their feet?

“If you even had a beard, I would be tempted to remove it, King of No Mountain,” the elven king said with cold indifference. His rage was hidden beneath his words.

The entire company of dwarves gaped in horror at the blonde elf. Dwalin suggested something physically impossible. Bilbo was a little unsure what was meant by that comment, whether it was metaphorical or if he actually meant he would like to shave Thorin’s face. 

“How dare you,” Thorin growled, stepping forward with threat in his step.

“Throw them in the dungeons,” Thranduil declared to his elven guards. “I would like to know the truth of their travels and I do not mind waiting.”

Many of the dwarves shouted ugly insults and threats over their shoulders as they were led away. Bilbo trailed behind, a bad taste caught in his mouth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you're all lovely.


	10. dungeons

The world was dark.

A couple of weeks passed slowly. Bilbo had to wear the ring almost constantly, still automatically ducking into the shadows when anyone passed. Each day that followed the last seemed darker than before. The only thing that made the darkness creep back was visiting the dwarves.

He’d never had much in the way of one-on-one conversations with the dwarves, but it was unavoidable as they were all placed in their own cell. The thought of never making contact did not even cross his mind. 

He first visited Balin, who appeared tired with dark bruises beneath his eyes. His usually fine beard was tangled with bits of spiderweb and twig. “Balin,” Bilbo whispered through the bars. He dared not take off the ring, for he didn’t know when next the guard would make their rounds.

“Bilbo?” Balin sounded concerned, confused. “Where are you? I can’t see you…”

“I’m invisible. I…” For a moment, Bilbo considered telling the old dwarf about the magic ring. But fear slashed through him like a wound, fear that the dwarves would take it away. “Don’t even ask. I can be visible, I just don’t want elves to find me.”

“No wonder Gandalf thought you would make a good burglar,” Balin murmured. 

He found Gloin next, whose temper had caused him to destroy his wooden cot. He did not reply to any attempts Bilbo made at conversation, except to ask Bilbo to check on his brother. 

Dwalin had taken his temper out in a different way, causing bruising across his shoulders and forearms as he’d tried to charge down the barred door. Bilbo ensured he knew Balin was perfectly fine, but Dwalin had grasped blindly through the bars, grabbing hold of Bilbo’s elbow. 

“Ori…I think a spider hurt Ori,” he whispered harshly. “Please make sure he’s okay, that the elves have tended to his wounds.” He growled under his breath. “I’ll kill them if they haven’t.”

He skirted past the next few cells without making contact, wanting to quickly find Ori and ensure she was okay, catching glimpses of more of the company. Fili was fiddling with the lock with a small knife he’d somehow gotten past the elven guards. Oin was attempting to repair his ear trumpet. Bombur was mournfully looking at his empty plate. 

Ori was in the next cell. “Ori? It’s Bilbo,” the hobbit said, trying to peer through the bars.

When Ori looked up, he could see Dwalin had been correct. Blood soaked through Ori’s tunic, concentrated on the right side. Her face was pale with blood loss. “Ori!” Bilbo exclaimed. “Are you okay? That needs to be treated.” Anger surged through the hobbit when he realised the elves had simply turned away from the injured dwarf.

“I can’t, Bilbo,” Ori whispered. “Wait, where are you?” After Bilbo quickly explained his invisibility yet again, he demanded to know why the dwarf couldn’t be treated. 

“I can’t be sure the elves won’t tell the dwarves that I’m female,” Ori explained. “The wound, if they treated it they would remove my tunic and I wouldn’t be able to hide it. I asked that they bring me water and bandages but they haven’t yet returned…”

To be sure, Bilbo waited with Ori until an elf had returned with the asked provisions, as well as some cream that the elf explained would ward off infection. Only once Bilbo was sure that Ori was essentially okay, if a little weak and in pain, he left.

He quickly surveyed the rest of the cells, to make sure no one else had been majorly injured. This time he chose not to stop and talk, as he’d discovered Thorin was not being kept with the rest of the company.

It took him hours of wandering before Bilbo found Thorin, kept in the deepest dungeon. It was alarmingly dark, but Bilbo could make out the dwarf king’s bowed form through the bars. His hands were chained to the wall behind him. Unlike the other dwarves, he had no cot for comfort, just cold stone.

“Thorin?” Bilbo murmured. It was so quiet the dwarf heard and raised his head. “Don’t freak out, I’m invisible, I’d rather not talk about it. Are you okay? Are you hurt?”

“Bilbo? The others, do you know…are they all okay? Do you know where they are? And you, you’re okay?” Thorin’s voice was a soft rasp. He did not want to alert the guard down the hall. 

“The others are fine, they’re being held in I guess less secure dungeons. I’m also fine. Are you?”

Bilbo realised in a small moment that he’d grown to care for all his dwarves far too much. The fear that spiked through him was intense and sharp, before he pushed it away.

“Do not worry about me, Master Baggins,” Thorin replied, a small smile playing at the corner of his lips. “Concern yourself with finding a way out for us, if you will.”

\---

The days passed with hushed conversations and the dark creeping closer and closer. Bilbo stole tiny portions of food and water from the elven stores, and napped in out of the way corners where he hoped no one would stumble upon him. Dwalin had taken it upon himself to shove some of his own food at the hobbit when he visited.

When he asked why, the warrior had replied, “For Thorin.” And would not elaborate any further. 

He’d taken to napping in the dark hallway where Thorin was imprisoned, which he told himself was simply because it was always semi-dark and good for sleeping. He did not admit that it was better than waking up alone in dusty corners; he did not think about how if the other dungeons were more secluded he would also sleep near his other dwarves. 

The nightmares, however, were growing steadily worse. Bilbo thought maybe the magic ring was wearing on his mind, so that he was growing more susceptible to such things. 

One particularly bad night he was woken by Thorin calling his name softly. There were cold tears on the hobbit’s face, he realised, as he blinked awake, shivering. He supposed he’d been making some kind of noise, for Thorin to be waking up.

Bilbo’s skin crawled, a vague memory of what his subconscious had been showing him. He crawled over to the front of Thorin’s cell. The dwarf had dragged himself over to the bars, causing one wrist to be held tight against the wall, the other straining against the shackles to rest on a bar.

“Bilbo, Bilbo, are you awake?” he murmured.

Still partially asleep, Bilbo whimpered, shuddering more so as his nightmare swept through his mind. 

“Here, Bilbo, come here, you’re okay,” Thorin said softly, offering one hand through the bars. Bilbo held himself still, before assuring himself that this was Thorin, who would not hurt him or at least not in the same way the other dwarves had, and besides he was kept on the other side of the bars.

Without the bars for safety, Bilbo did not think he would have been able to press his face into Thorin’s calloused hand.

Thorin was murmuring in a different language, a language that reminded Bilbo of gravel and rock, which he found strangely comforting. The dwarf’s hand was scratching through his curly hair softly, blunt nails gently dragging against his scalp.

It had been a long time since Bilbo had been touched with such care. 

\---

While the elves were drinking away their many years, Bilbo pilfered the keys and released the dwarves one by one. He removed his magic ring, which somehow lifted an odd pressure from his chest that he hadn’t noticed beforehand. 

He led the dwarves down to the cellar, hissed, “Get in the barrels and stay quiet. I will be back soon.” Hoping against hope that for once they would listen to him, he left them and their confused whispers behind to seek out Thorin.

By stroke of luck, the key for Thorin’s cell was also on the loop of keys for the other cells. He had not considered the shackles. After trying every key on the loop, Thorin gritted his teeth and spoke lowly, “Go. Get the others out, take the key and the map. You know what to do. I’ll find another way out.”

“Don’t be stupid,” Bilbo snapped. As if the group would manage to make it to the mountain and defeat the dragon without Thorin’s leadership. They would probably become distracted by a tavern, drink themselves half to death and miss Durin’s Day through their own idiocy.

Bilbo tamped down his harsh judgements. His mood had become dark and weary lately, and he knew he was in desperate need of decent sleep and a good meal.

He quickly scampered back to the cellar where nearly all of the dwarves were bundled into a barrel each. Dwalin was still standing, scowling at the barrels as if he could make them disappear with his own ferocity. “Where is Thorin, burglar?” he growled.

“Get in the barrel, dwarf,” the hobbit snapped. If the dwarves did not trust him by now in their journey, it was their own problem.

A second later, fear splashed through him like ice water. He’d spoken harshly to a dwarf. With a shudder, Bilbo pushed down the fear and dragged Nori from his barrel by his uppermost peak of hair. He did not have time for this. 

“You’re a thief, so you know how to pick locks, right?” he asked quickly.

Nori raised a braided eyebrow but nodded. “The cell locks do not pick, though,” he admitted grudgingly. 

“It’s not the cell that needs opening.” And he crossed his fingers that shackles would not be guarded by the same elven protection. 

He stood guard outside Thorin’s cell, just in case the guards came back from the party to check on the dwarf king. Turning back, he saw Nori had just finished unlocking the second shackle with what looked like small metal splinters. 

Thorin rose to stand on legs, and if they were at all weak from the weeks spent so cramped and restrained, it did not show. He thanked Nori and turned towards Bilbo. Before Bilbo realised what was happening, Thorin had stepped towards him, reached his hand up and gentle touched his curls.

There were no bars for safety. Bilbo flinched back, panic rising and squeezing tight on his lungs. He stumbled backwards as though burnt by the touch.

“I-” Thorin started, a small hint of confusion in his face.

“We must leave now,” Bilbo interrupted. He turned and led Thorin and Nori back to the cellar, where, to his relief, Dwalin had reluctantly climbed into his own barrel. Nori quickly scrambled into his own. Thorin’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

“Get in a barrel,” Bilbo ordered.

Thorin opened his mouth to protest but soon realised Dwalin himself was in a barrel, and if the guard deemed it safe and necessary to fold his particularly large body into one, then he’d better do the same. 

Bilbo paused for a moment listening. There were no alarmed shouts, so he thought perhaps they’d not noticed the empty cells yet. He pulled down the lever and watched the dwarves tumble down into the water below.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i am writing far more than usual lately. i dont know how well its turning out, but its something.


	11. lake-town

It took him a moment before he realised he’d separated himself from the barrels. Without a barrel, how was he supposed to escape along with the company? Hobbits could not swim, as they avoided deep waters at all costs, and he was no exception. 

With a start, he realised there was now alarmed shouting coming from just above the cellar. They’d noticed, then; slightly longer than he thought the elves would take but he supposed most were probably drunk out of their mind, and could be afforded a wider margin for error.

Unknowingly, he’d begun creeping backwards, automatically putting distance between himself and the elves. He was just about to reach into his pocket and slip the ring on his finger – as much as he hated the thought when he was just pushing back on the darkness – when the floor tilted and he landed in the water with a splash.

Panic filled his mind, a very different sort of panic to the kind he was used to. To think he was panicking over the thought of dying when not so long ago he’d accepted he was going to perish on this quest in some way. But to die by drowning was not something he’d considered. 

The crushing water was too much against his chest.

He flailed his limbs until his head bobbed above the surface, took in a great gasp of air. In his flailing, his hand smacked against something hard – a barrel. He grabbed hold of it with as much strength as he could muster in his thin body and managed to keep his head above water. Bifur’s face stared down at him, as the intimidating dwarf clutched at Bilbo’s arms.

The dwarf said something, in the same gravelly language he’d only heard Thorin use before. He shook his head at Bifur, not understanding. In response, Bifur only seemed to growl, before the entire company were rushing down the river.

What followed was too terrifying for Bilbo to fully comprehend. There was water, and orcs for some reason, and more water, and elves with their bows and pretty daggers, and more water.

At one point, Bifur and his barrel slammed against a rock. Bilbo felt something in his chest crack, and he involuntarily let go of the barrel. Bifur rushed away with the current, unable to quite hold onto the hobbit. He was shouting something over and over, in the language Bilbo would never understand.

He’d barely noticed he’d sunk below the surface when two hands reached down and yanked him up. Thorin had somehow managed to catch onto him as his barrel rushed past. The dwarf king held onto Bilbo with one arm around his chest, while he continued defending the company with his other hand, passing along borrowed weapons.

Bilbo, for his part, clutched to the arm for dear life.

\---

“I think we’ve outrun the orcs,” Dwalin grunted, as he dragged himself out of his barrel at the shore. His hair hung in tangled strands, while the bald top gleamed bright in the sun.

“Not for long,” Thorin answered. He gentled placed the hobbit in a seated position. Bilbo was spluttering all the water in his throat onto his hands. 

“How are we to get across the lake?” Balin murmured, looking more put together than any other dwarf at the present moment. 

Bilbo looked at his feet, a little sadly. One of the fabric slips Thorin had given him had been torn off in the river. The other, though extremely damaged and no longer the blue colour it once was, was clinging to his left ankle weakly. He removed it, folded it carefully and slipped it into his pocket, next to his golden ring. For some reason, he did not wish to lose it.

Somehow, someway, the company had luck enough to simply meet a bargeman who was willing to smuggle the dwarves into Lake-town for a steep price. Desperate to leave the orc pack behind, Balin agreed on behalf of Thorin. The barrels, which were what the bargeman had originally been there for, were stacked onto the boat, and the dwarves clambered on after them.

Curious, Bilbo found himself seated near the bargeman. Wanting a distraction from the aching in his side that was steadily growing worse, he asked, “Is it worth the money to risk bringing us into Lake-town?”

The bargeman looked down on the little man with equal curiosity. Not a dwarf, he thought, perhaps one of the small men that were rumoured to live in the West. The dwarves, he was wary towards, as he’d heard tell of the greed inset into their bones, but the little man had an air about him that said he was essentially good, despite his company.

“Yes,” the bargeman replied evenly. “I have three children to feed, and the Master of the town is…The town is not the richest. I take whatever work where I can get it, unless it involves something I would not do for any amount of money.”

“And what wouldn’t you do?” Bilbo asked. He paused for a moment, thinking perhaps this would be considered prying, then shrugged inwardly. If the man did not want to answer, he did not have to. He wouldn’t push for answers that weren’t freely given. 

“That is a good question, half-man,” the bargeman murmured. Bilbo bristled a little at being called half a man, then realised the man probably did not know what a hobbit was. “What you must understand is that the money I need is for my children only. So I would not do anything that would endanger or hurt them in any way, no matter the amount of money offered.” He shrugged unapologetically. “Apart from that, I cannot say for sure what I would or would not do.”

Bilbo remained silent. For the difficulties in his life, one had never been lack of money. As an only child, he received all of his parents’ belongings when they had passed on, and his parents had not been poor. 

He remembered, vaguely, before he’d shut himself behind his green door, some of the poorer families wandering the market with threadbare clothes, inches-short sleeves on the boys and neatly stitched patches on the girls’ dresses. But in the Shire, nobody went hungry; if you could not afford food at the market, you could trade any small job for something to eat, and the people behind the market counters often slipped the children some fruit or pastry. 

Every now and then, Bilbo would leave baskets of scones or muffins or cookies outside his smial near the pathway, just in case some children walked past and had forgotten their lunch bags. He did this even after he’d cut himself off from the rest of the Shire, though fewer and fewer hobbits would take any, and oftentimes he’d find the basket still full at the end of the day.

“What’s your name?” Bilbo wondered.

“Bard,” the man answered. “And yours?”

“Bilbo,” the hobbit said. “Bilbo Baggins.”

\---

When they’d been successfully smuggled into Bard’s house, Dwalin cautiously approached Ori. He cleared his throat, then inwardly winced when the scribe flinched with surprise. “How is your wound, lad?” the warrior asked.

“Ah,” Ori was slightly ashamed to squeak. “It is healing well, Master Dwalin. It wasn’t much more than a scratch, really.”

“May I check it?” Dwalin asked, trying to tone down the gruffness that was natural to his voice. “I want to see there is no chance of infection.” He was not a healer, but he’d been on enough battlefields to understand how to treat most wounds, and especially how to examine and clean out possible infections.

 

Ori startled, shocked by the gentleness that she’d never heard in Dwain’s voice before. “Uh,” she stammered, a blush rising in her cheeks as she thought of Dwalin lifting her top. “N-no, it’s okay, it’s healed over now.”

Dwalin, hearing the stammer and seeing the way Ori had shrunk back, immediately thought he’d scared the small dwarf. He ducked his head, wishing for once in his life that he was perhaps a little smaller, a little gentler in body, as he muttered, “Of course.”

\---

Bard dumped a large pile of fabrics on his table, then gestured to the company. “They may not fit very well, but they’ll keep you warm. You must stay here at least until nightfall, the house is being watched by the Master’s spies.” With that, he exchanged a few quiet words with his eldest daughter and son, then left the house.

Much to the embarrassment of Bard’s daughters, who chose to exit to a different room immediately, the dwarves began to strip off their clothes and replace them with the clothes of Lake-town. Bilbo considered asking for a private room – for the most part he’d managed to keep his privacy his own on this journey – then decided it did not matter if he redressed quickly.

It was only as he was removing his button-down shirt that he noticed the aching pain in his torso, particularly when he raised his arms. It must have been slamming into that rock in the river, he thought. He almost wondered if he should get Oin to check him over, then shuddered at the thought of letting dwarf hands touch his bare chest. It was bad enough that any of them could look at him currently, as he was standing only in his pants, struggling to turn what he thought was a child’s top inside out.

“Bilbo,” Bofur gasped from behind him. Bilbo turned his head in confusion. He knew he looked different to the dwarves, but none of the scars beneath his pants were showing, so there was no need for that alarmed gasp.

“Your back,” the miner explained. Bilbo peered over his shoulder. He couldn’t get the best view but he could see the mottled blue and red bruising. 

The miner yanked his hat back over his unbranded hair then stepped up behind the hobbit. “Oin needs to take a look a’ you, Bilbo, make sure nothin’s hurt on the inside.” Concern was deeply embedded in Bofur’s voice. 

“No,” Bilbo said firmly, yanking his top on so quickly new pain flared out across his torso. Now that he thought about it, the pain was concentrated on his back, though his ribs also ached. 

“You could’a broken something,” Bofur argued, tugging on his hair with mittened hands.

“I will not be examined,” Bilbo insisted. “Besides, Kili needs to be seen more than I do.” He pointed to the side, where Kili was leaning against a wall weakly. The dwarf prince’s leg was bleeding shallowly. Bilbo wasn’t entirely sure what had happened, but he was sure something bleeding that much was more serious than his bruised back. Seeing Bilbo's regard, the dwarf stood up straight in defiance, only a brief expression of pain flickering across his face.

“Aye,” Bofur sighed. “But he is being jus’ as stubborn as you.”

Bilbo huffed. He grabbed hold of one of Fili’s moustache braids on his way past. The look of affront on Fili’s face was almost comical. “See to your brother,” Bilbo ordered.

“I’m trying,” Fili grumbled. 

“Well, try harder,” Bilbo said, only a fraction gentler. “Set Thorin on him if you have to.”

Satisfied, as Fili scampered off, rubbing vaguely at his upper lip, Bilbo turned back to Bofur. He raised his eyebrows as he realised the dwarf was still wearing no shirt – he never seemed to get cold, no matter how little he was wearing – then noticed the hints of metal stabbed through his nipples.

Bilbo blinked, then blurted, “What are those?” before he realised it was probably rude to be staring at the dwarf’s chest. He’d only seem them once before. Bilbo’s throat dried as he stared at the slivers of metal.

“Oh! They’re piercings. Don’ ask why I thought they were a good idea…”

Bilbo was sure Bofur was still talking, but his blood was rushing too loudly in his ears. The hobbit blinked his eyes rapidly, trying to clear the image. A different metal, a different chest, hair pressed into his face when he opens his mouth to call out.

“Bilbo…?” he hears distantly.

His vision went dark. He flailed his limbs in front of him, trying to find anything in this dark, so deep he could not see even himself. The world narrowed to the fast beating of his heart and the choking need for air. 

A face flickered in front of him, black braids and yellow teeth. “No, Nuhji,” Bilbo murmured. “No more…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and we are in lake-town!  
> thank you if you're still reading this :)


	12. sickness

When he came to, his nightmares finally parting, Bilbo was curled in a blanket. What drew him back was the hand softly combing through his hair. He blinked his eyes open, saw Thorin seated near his head. It was his hand stroking through his hair like it wasn’t grimy with weeks’ worth of travel.

Glancing around him, Bilbo saw the company surrounding him, all with faces creased in worry. Rather than making him feel trapped the surrounding group washed security over him. The hobbit drew in a shaky breath.

Thorin did not discontinue his stroking, fiddling with limp curls with such tenderness that you would think he had silk-soft hands rather than thickly calloused workmen hands. Fili and Kili were near him, whispering together with furrowed brows. Dwalin and Gloin were scowling as though the sheer force of their anger could cause the disappearance of what was bothering their burglar. Oin was fussing to himself about not being able to cure sickness in the heart, Bombur shoving spare food in his mouth, Bifur growling at the air, Dori straightening things as though a neat house could cure anything. Ori and Bofur both sat near Bilbo, simply bowing their heads, unsure how to help. Nori, oddly, was standing to the back of the group, his face drawn and pale.

Bofur suddenly saw that Bilbo was aware of his surroundings. “I’m sorry, Bilbo,” he said, his voice devoid of its usual cheer. “I didnae realise piercings freaked you out so much.”

A loud crack from the back of the room sounded. The company turned to see Nori, who had plunged a knife into the table next to him. A feral sort of anger radiated from his body. “It weren’t the piercings, you fool,” he snarled. Questions were thrown at him, but the thief folded himself into a knot in the corner and refused to meet anyone’s eyes let alone answer them. 

Bofur turned back to Bilbo, who was currently trying to pull himself up into a seated position. Somebody seemed to have decided that they could fix Bilbo by simply layering as many blankets as possible on top of him. Bofur tangled his fingers in his scarf. “What did I do to upset you, Bilbo?” he asked mournfully. 

“I…” Bilbo’s throat was so dry his voice came out raspy. “Nothing, Bofur.” He smiled weakly to reassure the dwarf. “I just…I was surprised, is all. I used to know someone with the…piercings, were they? I didn’t think it was a normal thing, really. And it just reminded me too much… of… of…” Bilbo’s voice faltered. He did not want to lie to those who were obviously so concerned for his wellbeing. “Well, it is a long story. But you didn’t do anything, Bofur.”

Bofur’s smile was heartbreakingly hopeful. “Many dwarves have piercings! Some in even worse places than my nipple piercing. Like Dwalin, he has one in his-“

“I don’t think that’s relevant, is it?” Ori squeaked as she interrupted. Her cheeks were stained a ruddy red. 

“Oh, uh, probably not.” Bofur grinned up at Dwalin’s frown, cowering only slightly.

In all this, Bilbo did not even notice that Thorin had kept his hand on the back of his neck.

\---

Despite themselves, the company was caught and brought forth to the Master of Lake-town after an ill-advised attempt to rob the town’s armoury. Nori, whose colour had almost completely returned, was muttering about how his reputation would never be the same if this incident got out. 

The Master’s greed was almost palpable. When he insinuated that Thorin could not be trusted, Bilbo’s anger spiked. How dare he indicate any one of Bilbo’s dwarves were anything but honourable? In his anger, Bilbo spoke out against the Master.

The company found they were welcomed the second they mentioned the possibility of gold. 

They were given two reasonably large rooms in one of the inns. Fili, Kili, Thorin, Dwalin and Balin took one, while Dori, Nori, Ori, Bomber, Bofur and Bifur tumbled into the other one. Oin and Gloin grumbled about needing ale, but indicated they would room with Thorin’s group. 

Bilbo found himself wary of sharing a room with dwarves. Sure, it was just like when they were on the road, but a room in an inn…Bilbo shook off his nervousness. These were his dwarves, after all. He slipped into the room with Bofur and Ori, as they were the dwarves he felt the closest to.

Except for Thorin…Bilbo wasn’t sure what his relationship to Thorin even was anymore. Sometimes, the dwarf was distant and cold, while other times he was stroking Bilbo’s hair with all the tenderness of a very dear friend.

There were two large beds in the room, one of which Bofur and Bifur were sharing, the other Dori, Ori and Nori. Bombur was entirely too large to share a bed, but he seemed content to settle into the armchair, made for a man, if his snores were anything to judge by. 

“You can sleep in our bed, Bilbo,” Bofur called, his voice sleepy. Only his hat was visible above the blankets.

Bilbo cleared his throat. Sharing a bed, of all things, was entirely out of the question. “No, thank you, Bofur, I am happy to sleep on the floor.” His protests did not matter much, however, as Bofur’s snores had joined his brother’s.

The only other dwarf still awake was Nori, who was fussing with Ori’s blanket with an eerily Dori-like nature. Bilbo took off his outermost layer, an overcoat that dangled to mid-calf, and folded it into a pillow. He settled himself down in a corner of the room, face turned towards the wall. The floor was not actually uncomfortable, in fact it was far better than the floors of Thranduil’s kingdom, and he found himself sinking down into sleep with an ease he had not thought possible.

He did not notice Nori continue to stare at him, with a wary thoughtfulness in his furrowed brow.

\---

When he woke up, the first thing Bilbo noticed was the stuffiness in his head and the sharp ache in his throat. He sniffled miserably, eyes tight against the world. He would have to wave his hand out his window at his gardener, and ask him to go down to the nearest healer for medicine. 

The second thing he noticed was that the bed sheets did not feel right. They were too scratchy for his lovely bed in his hobbit hole. Perhaps he’d fallen asleep in one of his useless guest bedrooms? But no, that did not make any sense, those sheets were just as soft as his own, if unused. 

The third thing he noticed was when he opened his eyes and saw he was in fact in the Lake-town inn. How he’d forgotten all about the quest in those small moments between waking and sleeping, he didn’t really know. The hobbit shivered, pulled the blankets tighter around him. He was unbearably cold, and his upper arms ached in an odd way.

Somebody must have moved him to a bed, he thought dimly. He was sure he’d gone to sleep on the floor. He stretched his limbs out to see if any of his dwarves were sleeping the same bed, but to his relief it was just him. Actually, now that he thought about it, he could not hear the incessant snoring of his companions. They must have all risen before him.

Bilbo considered getting out of bed to find the company, but he was so, so cold. Even under these blankets he was shivering uncontrollably. If he climbed out of bed, he would surely freeze.

The only way to get better when you’re sick, Bilbo knew, was to sleep it off. So he shoved himself further down the bed, the blankets cocooned around him, and let himself be carried away.

\---

Bombur was the first to amble back into the room. He looked at the bed where he and Bofur had laid the hobbit, then tucked him in; it was now simply a mess of blankets. The company had wondered over dinner if Bilbo had risen but since no one had seen him, they assumed he’d slept through the entire day. The poor hobbit, Dori had worried, he must not have slept much at all in Thranduil’s kingdom, since he always had to keep an eye out for elves.

Since the bed was empty, Bombur decided it was his turn tonight. Either Bifur or Bofur could snuggle against his belly, and the other could take the chair. He smiled to himself at the thought of sleeping in actual bed, for the first time in what felt like forever, as he drew back the blankets.

His smile fell off his face. The hobbit was beneath the mess of blankets, his small body curled in on itself. The surrounding sheets were damp with sweat. Bilbo’s cheeks were flushed a dark red, his hairline damp, and he was whimpering softly in his sleep. Bombur could practically feel the heat radiating off the hobbit.

“Oh dear,” Bombur murmured, then turned to waddle quickly out of the room. The hobbit needed Oin. And Thorin would want to know the hobbit had taken ill. Oh, Thorin would be angry, Bombur knew, but his anger was only a cover for when he became scared or hurt or similar. Still, perhaps he should leave Oin to tell Thorin what was wrong with their burglar.


	13. care

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will tag when Bilbo reveals his past, since it's obviously quite traumatic, up here in this little note thing. Just so you don't have to worry about when it will happen. I will also write a summary for what happens in the chapter(s) where it's addressed, so if you can't read the chapter, you can read the summary and continue reading the story without confusion. 
> 
> (It is not this chapter by the way.) (Though you do find out more about Nuhji.)

“What is wrong with him, Oin?” Thorin’s voice was taut with tension.

“He is sick. Very, very sick.” Oin sponged away the sweat on Bilbo’s forehead. “He has a high fever, and it appears it is causing him to be unable to wake, and is giving him nightmares.” Oin opened the hobbit’s mouth and tipped his head back, slowly and carefully pouring a strong-smelling tea down his throat. Bilbo swallowed reflexively. “There is not much we can do, until the fever breaks.”

Bilbo was shivering again, and whimpering, “No…no…” over and over. Oin passed the cloth and cool water to Thorin.

“Make sure someone stays with him at all times,” Oin ordered, his face sad. “I fear his state of mind when he wakes.”

“No, no, you don’t understand,” Bilbo begged. “I tried to stop it, I tried, please don’t…”

Bilbo pressed his face into the pillow with a sob.

Thorin’s chest hurt. He did not know, or understand, what his hobbit was mumbling about, but whatever it was, be it nightmare or memory, was causing deep pain to Bilbo. He wished he could take it all away. He wished he could do anything more than sponge away the sweat and hope soon the heat would seep from the hobbit’s skin.

\---

In this type of town, it did not take Nori long before he found the underbelly, where women stood in alleyways with the blouses unbuttoned to their stomach, with furtive looks between the parties exchanging packages, with the gleam of metal blades a common sight.

He’d taken his hair down and braided it differently, coloured it dark brown with a powder stolen from a shop with a nasty looking keeper. He could not disguise his dwarvishness, so they would know he was with the company, but hopefully they would not be able to tell which one.

He slipped into a rundown tavern, ordered an ale that tasted like cat piss, and chewed on the pipe between his teeth. He kept his gaze hard but disinterested, and listened.

It took three hours until Nori heard mention of Nuhji. He zeroed in on the conversation while keeping his expression as neutral as it was before.

 _There._ Nuhji, requested a hobbit of the name Baggins. Would give a significant amount of coin for said hobbit, alive and unharmed. The men were discussing how odd it was that Nuhji was requesting no harm, and that he would pay for him. Nuhji usually accepted payment from others to remove any and all protection from certain individuals, then he simply put out the word that it did not matter what happened to that person, no repercussions would follow.

Then the men began talking quietly about their plans to abduct their hobbit. Which was when Nori stepped up behind one, whipped one of his knives into his hand, and shoved it into the man’s throat. Not hard enough to kill, of course, but enough to cause blood to bead at the wound.

“The hobbit is mine,” Nori spoke lowly. “Let it be known that if any shall touch a hair on his head, if any shall even speak of it…” Nori slipped another knife into his other hand at the glimpse of the man’s hand moving towards his own weapon. He stabbed the knife into the side of the hand, through into the table. The howl of pain, he ignored.

“They will be having words with me,” Nori purred. “And I’m afraid only one of us will be enjoying such a meeting.”

He yanked both of his knives away, to where on his person neither of the men could tell. The dwarf smiled, all teeth and menace, and then he walked out of the tavern.

\---

Thorin only left Bilbo’s side for food and sleep. Sometimes others joined him, often sitting in silence. Bofur and Dori in particular seemed to feel the need to continuously talk to the burglar, though he could not hear them.

At one point, Dwalin joined him, sitting across the other side of the bed. “We must leave soon,” he said.

“Aye,” Thorin sighed.

“And if he does no’ wake in time?”

Thorin chewed on that thought. It was something that had been lurking at the edges of his mind, but he did not want to acknowledge it. “We will have to leave him here,” he replied tightly. “Nori has skill enough to be our burglar. I am sure there is something in this town that will disguise his scent as a dwarf.”

“Some of the company mus’ stay behind with the lad.”

“Aye. But it will be their choice. They all signed up to come to Erebor, and I will not leave behind anyone who is unwilling to stay.” Thorin paused. “If no one stays, I will employ the bargeman to watch over him. He seems honourable enough.”

“Oin will wan’ ta stay behind with his patient.” Thorin inclined his head at that. It was what he was hoping for; he did not want to have to hire a human healer, when he did not know if he could trust them. 

Dwalin shuffled a little in his seat, then seemed to come to a decision. “And I,” he said abruptly, “I will stay too.”

Surprised, Thorin raised his eyebrows. “Balin will not choose to stay behind,” he reminded the warrior. “And neither will Ori, though he may be tempted. He will stick by his duty as scribe.”

Dwalin’s shoulders stiffened. He met Thorin’s eyes evenly. “Your duty is to go to tha’ mountain, to lead our company there, even though you wish to stay behin’. I trus’ you will look after Ori, and Balin, as I will watch over the hobbit.”

Thorin did not reply, simply returned his gaze to the hobbit’s drawn face. In any other company, he would have denied the implication that he had grown to care for their burglar. But not to Dwalin. And especially not to Dwalin after he had openly admitted his feelings for the scribe for the first time on the quest.

Bilbo squirmed in his sleep, cried softly under his breath.

“What do you think ‘e dreams of?” Dwalin asked, a soft touch to his tone. “It reminds me of warriors’ nightmares, but he ‘as never seen battle.”

“I wish I knew,” Thorin murmured.

\---

The next day, Bilbo woke, a few hours after his fever had broken. His head was so fuzzy. He could see Thorin beside him, the dwarf was resting with his face pressed into the mattress Bilbo was lying upon. 

“Thorin.” Bilbo’s throat was so dry, the word cracked. 

The dwarf lifted his head immediately, red lines pressed into his face from the blanket. “Master Bilbo, you’re awake,” he said, relieved. He poured Bilbo some water from the jug, and helped the burglar sip it down. 

Bilbo could not find the energy to shoo the healer away when Oin came in, asking too many questions in his too loud voice. It wasn’t until food had made its way into his belly that Bilbo actually began to feel better.

“Right,” he said brightly. “When do we leave?”

Thorin stared at him. “Bilbo, you’ve been very sick for the past couple of days,” he explained slowly. “You would not even wake up, you kept having horrific nightmares. You must recover before we can leave.”

Bilbo snorted. “I am fine, honestly. When hobbits get sick, they sleep constantly until their body has dealt with it. I’m awake because I have recovered.”

Thorin folded his arms across his chest. “And the nightmares? Are those a hobbit thing as well?” he growled.

“Ah…no.” Bilbo fidgeted uncomfortably. He could not remember the nightmares, but he knew what they were about. “That’s just…I just have a lot of nightmares. It happens whether I’m sick or not.”

Thorin’s face fell before he schooled it back into a neutral expression. He had hoped the nightmares were a rare thing. “We leave tomorrow, then,” he said grudgingly. On his way out of the room, he turned back and pointed at the hobbit. “Do not get sick again.”

“What an odd dwarf,” Bilbo wondered aloud. Oin found something absurdly hilarious, but when asked, he would not explain, instead waving his arms about as though to ward off any further conversation.


	14. misunderstandings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay guys. warning for this chapter for past rape/non-con. no flashbacks or anything, nothing explicit. it contains dialogue near the end of the chapter talking about it. there is also reference to slight victim blaming.
> 
> if this will trigger you, i've written a detailed summary in the bottom notes cutting out that stuff, so that you can continue reading this story after it with no confusion.
> 
> of course, if you feel you cant read this story any longer at all, if you're inclined to don't feel bad about it or anything, i completely understand.

“But I must go, Uncle!” Kili cried.

“You cannot take this away from him,” Fili argued.

Thorin sighed, scrubbed a hand over his face. Kili’s skin was pale, slightly clammy. His wound was tearing open every time he walked too far. “I don’t want to leave you behind, Kili,” Thorin said quietly. “But your injury is too fresh. It needs to heal. You cannot walk from here to the mountain, let alone potentially face a dragon, when your leg is so injured.”

“I don’t want to stay behind,” Kili insisted. “I can keep up with the company, I won’t be a burden.”

Thorin smiled, a little bitterly. “I’m not saying that. But your wound will grow infected, if you walk to the mountain at the rate we must go. I’m sorry, Kili. You must stay here.” His tone was final. “Join us when you are healed.”

Kili’s face fell, the outside of his eyes reddening. He knew he would not be able to convince Thorin to let him follow.

Fili jutted his chin out in stubbornness. “Then I will stay behind.”

Thorin sighed again; in all honesty he knew that would happen. “If you must,” he acquiesced. 

\---

Oin decided to stay behind in Lake-town with Fili and Kili, in order to ensure the wound stopped reopening, that Kili would stop tearing his stitches.

The rest of the company loaded onto a boat, and set off towards Erebor.

When Oin, Fili and Kili returned to the inn, they found their belongings in a pile outside their rooms. A maid paused in stripping the beds, turned to them. “The Master is no longer paying for your stay here,” she said. “You must pay for new rooms or find somewhere else to stay.”

When they pooled their coin, they found they barely had enough for food to eat than for a room at an inn. 

“We shall ask Bard for his hospitality for a night or two,” Fili decided. “If he needs any repairing done around his house, we can pay him back like so. Or once Erebor is reclaimed, we can pay him then.”

Reluctantly, Bard opened his door to the dwarves, mainly after they had explained that Kili had been injured. He was a suspicious man, but not a cruel one.

\---

The company reached the ruins of Dale early afternoon. Bilbo shivered, looking around. It was desolate, haunting almost, how the houses were empty broken shells, how the wind whistled through the ruins.

“Is today Durin’s Day?” Bilbo asked Balin, as they tromped through the ghost city.

“Nay, laddie,” Balin replied, patting Bilbo fondly on the arm. “Durin’s Day is the day after tomorrow. We shall reach the mountainside by nightfall, at this rate, and will begin the search for the door tomorrow.” Balin’s eyes shined. “I daresay we may actually enter the mountain, my lad.”

Bilbo stared up at the mountain with disbelief. He had not really expected to last this long on the journey, to be perfectly honest. And now he had to, what, face a dragon or something? “Balin, what exactly am I supposed to do?” 

Balin gazed at him with small lines between his eyebrows. “Surely you know?”

“Ah, well,” Bilbo shrugged. “I think it had something to do with the dragon. And some sort of burglary. I didn’t really expect to still be alive by now, so I didn’t much pay attention.”

“If you did not think you would live, why did you join us on our quest, Master Baggins?” Balin asked, his voice simply curious. “You had your home to stay in, and you don’t have any ties to dwarves, so there was really no reason for you to want to come. Particularly if you thought you weren’t going to survive.”

Bilbo shrugged again. “I am not like other hobbits, Balin. I haven’t found joy in what the Shire has found joy in for a while. I don’t have any family or friends, since I have been shamed so badly, and my smial was a glorified cage. I used to send my gardener down to the market because I could not stand the stares. I was fading away by the time this group tumbled through my doorway, and I thought I would prefer to die on the road doing something instead of in my old home staring at the wall.”

“What did you do, Bilbo, that shamed you so badly?”

Bilbo sighed. “I did not do anything, Balin,” he said softly, sadly. “It was what they had thought I’d done.”

\---

They made camp in the shadow of the mountain. “Should we start searching for the door?” Dori wondered, as he set down his pack.

“No,” Thorin decided. “We would miss it in this light. We start tomorrow at first light.” Thorin turned to the cook, who generally started the fire for cooking and tended to it until he turned in to bed. “No fire tonight, Bombur.” His gaze focused on the mountain. 

They ate nuts and crackers and dried meat from Lake-town, and set out their bed rolls before it became too dark to see. Many crawled into bed immediately after dinner, their snores obscenely loud in the dead quiet of the mountain’s shadow. Bilbo, too, huddled under his blanket, mainly because he was cold rather than tired. He still slept further away from the dwarves than they did to each other, and without a fire he found himself shivering.

Bofur offered to take first watch, and Bilbo could smell by the smoke that he was sitting within close range – but not close enough for it to be uncomfortable. If dwarf eyes were as bad as hobbit eyes in the dark, then he probably did not even know it was Bilbo lying here. 

Then Bilbo remembered that dwarves were miners, and their dark vision would have to be very good for that.

It was only when he heard Thorin’s voice that he realised the dwarf king was also sitting watch with Bofur. “Why did your family join us, Master Bofur?”

Bofur chuckled. “A complicated question with a simple answer, my lord,” he murmured. “We wan’ to go back to Erebor, to our home. Bifur and I, we remember it, and Bombur, he yearns for it though he was only very young when the dragon came. Why do you ask?”

“I wish to understand,” Thorin replied softly. “Almost everybody here is my kin, and feel some sort of loyalty to me, and that is why they have come. But not your family, nor Master Baggins, so I find myself wondering why come on such a desperate journey.” Thorin paused. ‘I am told Master Baggins did not even expect to reach the mountain.”

“Bilbo doesn’ know his own strength,” Bofur snorted. “Somebody has hurt him. Very badly, and not just on his feet.” The cheerful dwarf grew remarkably serious. “You have my loyalty, my lord, but don’ hurt Bilbo or I may find it sorely tested.”

Rather than become offended or angry at the threat, Thorin was merely confused. “I will not, though I don’t know why you’re warning me, in particular.”

“Out of all the dwarves in this company, he has chosen t’ trus’ you.”

“That is not true,” Thorin argued. “He cares about all of us, I have seen the way he treats us, how he tries to take care of some of you…”

“He cares about all of us, aye. But he only has grown to trust you so far. I don’ wan’ to see him hurt because his trust was betrayed.”

“You do not need to worry,” Thorin said roughly. “He does not trust me. He still cringes back from my touch.” That was more than he had planned to say to the dwarf beside him, but somehow at the base of the mountain his words were falling more freely. He abruptly stood and wished the miner a good night.

Bilbo did not sleep well after hearing that conversation. Thorin sounded almost hurt, and the hobbit just wanted to smooth away any accidental hurts he might have caused. Yet he could not find it in himself to leave his blanket to seek out the dwarf king, to somehow explain.

\---

When he woke in the morning, it was definitely past mid morning, and there was something heavy lying on him. He pushed his blankets back and discovered it was Thorin’s coat that had been draped across him that added the extra weight. 

The camp was mostly empty; only Bifur remained behind, who was idly carving some wood. Since Thorin was not here to give his coat back to, Bilbo wrapped it around his shoulders. It was not as cold as it had been last night, but he was still shivering.

He approached Bifur. “Morning,” he yawned. “Why did everyone leave me behind, then? And you? I suppose someone must keep watch over our things, but surely somebody could have woken me up.”

Bifur glanced up at him, then back to the wood in his hands and continued carving. Now that he thought about it, he wasn’t entirely sure the dwarf knew what he was saying. The hobbit sat down beside him anyway. “Sorry, I don’t know if you understand me. How about, nod if you understand.”

The dwarf did not nod, but he did growl something under his breath in the dwarven language.

“Uh…” Bilbo scratched his head. “Right, well. I guess that means you don’t? And I definitely don’t speak dwarvish, sorry. Surely everyone will be back for lunch, and then I can join in looking for the door. Unless they took food with them…Oh dear. I’m not sure why I’m even still talking.”

He paused, looked down at what was in Bifur’s hands. “I used to know someone who did that.” He laughed bitterly. “It was what made me talk to him in the first place. He was carving such a pretty flower, that I asked him if I could buy it from him.”

He should not be talking about this, Bilbo knew. But the dwarf could not understand, and something deep in his chest was slightly eased by his talking about it aloud, though he did not know why.

“He’s the one looking for me now,” Bilbo admitted quietly. “Or he is the leader at least. Him and two others. He told me his name was Nuhji. I thought all dwarves were like them, until I met this company. I can’t believe he’s looking for me. He told me he would, that I was his favourite, when the Bree hobbits burst into the room. He whispered it as they dragged me out.” He hummed thoughtfully. “I suppose the rangers would not let him in to the Shire, but I did not know he would truly look for me until Goblin-town.”

He rubbed absentmindedly over the scar tissue on his feet. “I can still feel it sometimes,” he whispered, shivering. He’d forgotten Bifur was even there. “In my sleep, I dream about it. They were so strong, dwarves are so strong. And there was three of them, and one of me. Some of the things I had to do make me sick.

“He was the worst. Nuhji. The leader.” Bilbo shivered, continued thinking aloud. “When I was younger – not too young, mind you – every now and then in a book they would mention the occurrence. Though in books it always happened to women. And they often say it happens because of their clothes, you know. I wear this long, dark cloak now, keeps me well covered. To Bree, I remember very clearly, I had worn only a thin white shirt with my trousers and braces.

“Now that I think back on it, his gaze was like he could see through my clothes.” He laughed bitterly. “And then I suppose he did.”

He was drawn back to the present by the sound of breaking wood. Bifur had crushed his wood between his hands. “Bifur?” Bilbo asked tentatively. Blood rushed to his face. Oh, gods, why had he even spoken of any of that, regardless of whether Bifur could understand? 

Bifur bellowed so loudly that it seemed as if the entire mountain shook. The dwarf stood, all trembling rage and wide eyes, grabbed the nearest weapon and strode off so quickly Bilbo did not have time to be afraid.

Bilbo kept watch over the camp, rocking back and forth, thoughts so hazy yet all he could question was if Bifur now knew, if he understand, if Bilbo had ruined everything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> summary of chapter:
> 
> Thorin chooses to leave Kili in Lake-town due to his leg injury and the fact that Kili keeps tearing his stitches open. Fili refuses to leave his brother, and Oin decides to remain behind as a healer. Once the rest of the company has left, Fili, Kili, and Oin discover the Master is no longer paying for their room at the inn, so they seek Bard for his help. Bard agrees to allow them to stay in his house when he is told Kili is injured.
> 
> The rest of the company arrives at the mountain side by evening, two nights before Durin's Day. Balin discovers that Bilbo didn't expect to survive the journey to Erebor, and as such doesn't know what he's actually supposed to do. As it is too dark to search for the door, the company bed down. Bilbo accidentally overhears a conversation between Bofur and Thorin. Thorin is asking Bofur why his family had joined the quest, to which Bofur replies that they want to go home to Erebor. Then it leads to Bofur warning Thorin not to hurt Bilbo, as Bilbo has shown trust in Thorin. Thorin replies that Bilbo doesn't trust him, and Bilbo realises he is hurt over this.
> 
> In the morning, most of the company leaves to search for the door, leaving Bifur to watch over camp. Bilbo was also left behind, as he'd slept in. Bilbo tried to converse with Bifur; Bifur did not respond which led to Bilbo believing that Bifur could not understand him.
> 
> Bilbo begins to talk aloud about the assault by Nuhji and two other dwarves in Bree. Bifur becomes extremely angered, letting out a loud roar and leaving camp with a weapon. Bilbo becomes distressed by the thought that Bifur did in fact understand him.
> 
> \---
> 
> Also, an aside. Canonically, I believe Bofur and his family came from the Blue Mountains. In my story, I've chosen to have them also come from Erebor, like the rest of the company.
> 
> This was not how I planned for (some of) Bilbo's story to come out, actually. And I've edited it numerous times. So I hope it's okay.
> 
> Also, another aside. Now that you know this part of Bilbo's story (which many of you had guessed anyhow), some of you, particularly those with prior experience, might disagree with how Bilbo deals with it in terms of his ptsd and all that. Everyone reacts differently to such an event, and I've tried to keep it as close to realism as I could without triggering myself and other people. For example, I know the nightmares and flashbacks should be more explicit and damaging for it to be realistic, but I honestly don't think I could handle writing that into the story myself. So I'm sorry if anyone doesn't agree with how I've handled those aspects of the story so far.
> 
> Whew! Long note. Thanks to those still reading, and especially those who comment! I'm terrible at responding because I'm awkward and shy, but I read them all multiple times and they make me want to write all the more. So thank yoi!


	15. anger

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay, another warning for discussion of rape/non-con. it is very short, near the end of chapter, slightly more obvious and emotive in wording than last chapter, but still not explicit. nonetheless, there will be a detailed summary at the bottom if you can't read the chapter.
> 
> after this, there will be at least a few chapters with no triggers, just so you know it's not going to get completely taken over by that.

The first group that returned consisted of Gloin, Dori and Ori. Dori could see the distress in the hobbit’s face and immediately wanted to fold him into a blanket and stroke his hair until he’d calmed down. However, he knew this was the exact opposite of what the burglar needed.

Gloin frowned behind his massive unruly beard. “Where is Bifur, Master Baggins?” Dori huffed at the tone, yet knew that Gloin was simply oblivious to the hobbit’s distress rather than uncaring. “Was it him who made that huge yell? He could’ve woken the dragon, if it is indeed still alive!”

Bilbo clenched his fists against his knees. His face was alarmingly pale. “He, um. I think I made him angry. I don’t know where he went. He can’t understand what I say, can he?” His eyes were pleading when he gazed up at the group.

“Of course he can,” Gloin answered. “He simply can’t speak the common language; he can understand just fine.”

The noise the hobbit let out was a cross between a sob and a groan. 

“What did you say, Bilbo?” Dori asked, his voice reproachful. The hobbit must have insulted Bifur, thinking he could not understand.

Bilbo ignored Dori, instead crawling back under the blankets and curling up in a ball. His mind was a mess.

Next returned Bofur, Bombur and Nori. Bofur’s face fell into an uncharacteristically somber expression when he heard Bifur had stormed off somewhere. “I’ll go get him,” he sighed. “Someone might wan’na give me a weapon, though…He can’nae control himself when ‘e gets like this.” Bofur set his shoulders and strode off in the direction Bilbo had indicated from his blanket. Bifur could grow impossibly angry, to the point where he could not recognise anyone who came near him and instead registered them immediately as a threat - and reacted accordingly.

The camp was quiet. Bilbo, feeling hungry, decided he couldn’t hide away in his bed until the dragon came to eat him, so he began to help Bombur prepare a cold lunch. The company politely pretended not to notice the red rims around Bilbo’s eyes. 

Thorin, Balin and Dwalin did not return for lunch, though the company was hardly surprised they’d decided to continue the search. 

When Bifur and Bofur returned, the miner had a black eye and Bifur a shallow cut across his bicep. Bofur was leading him back to camp like a child with linked hands. When they’d both sat down and were given their food, Dori said primly, “Now Bilbo, I think you owe Bifur an apology for whatever you said.”

Bilbo’s face whitened. He’d been frozen since he’d spotted Bifur. But before he could say anything, Bifur leapt to his feet and snarled something at Dori. Dori, being the strongest of the group, seemed unafraid but confused. “I thought he’d offended you, Bifur?” Dori asked.

Bifur replied, still angry, though Bilbo had no idea what was being said. The hobbit kept his gaze fixed to his knees. 

“What do you mean by that?” Dori said.

Bifur turned towards the hobbit and spoke something quickly with less anger. Bilbo looked up then away, unable to meet his eyes. “What is he saying?” he asked quietly. 

“He said…he said when Erebor is reclaimed, he will go on ‘is own quest to ensure you are safe and avenged,” Bofur said with a question in his voice. “Bilbo, wha’ did you say to him?”

“I accidentally told him about something I should never have mentioned,” Bilbo replied harshly.

“Bifur said he will no’ tell anyone what you tol’ him, but that he feels if you were also to tell us what happened, you would trust us more,” Bofur translated, his brow furrowed with confusion. 

Bilbo sighed and shook his head. The others continued to ask him questions but when it became clear he would not answer anything on this topic, they moved on.

\---

Thorin, Dwalin and Balin returned in the evening, when it became too dark to see. The other groups, who had set out again after lunch, had returned a little earlier. When asked if they’d had more success, they shook their heads grimly. 

During dinner, Dori explained quietly to the king and his cousins what had transpired earlier that day. “And Bilbo refuses to speak of what he said?” Thorin confirmed. 

Dori nodded, a little sadly. “He does not even acknowledge our questions. I don’t understand why he will not tell us, nor why Bifur keeps it from us. Shouldn’t we all be trusted? We’ve travelled with him far enough.”

“It is not our business,” Nori cut in. “It’s not a requirement that he tell us everything about himself, particularly that which he doesn’t wish to share.”

“If it’s something that has hurt him so greatly that Bifur wishes to avenge him, then it would only be beneficial for him to tell us,” Dori argued. “We would be able to protect him then!”

“What does it matter?” Nori shot back. “What follows him we cannot protect him from. And besides, he doesn’t need a bunch of overprotective dwarves on his case. Not to mention we are soon about to possibly face a fire-breathing dragon. Who knows if we’ll even survive it to protect the hobbit?”

Thorin flinched, small enough so that the only one who noticed was Dwalin, trained to notice the slightest of movements. 

“What follows him?” Dori gaped at his brother. “You know what he told Bifur? You know what he is so afraid of?”

Nori flicked out a knife and started twiddling it between his fingers, a defense mechanism. “No,” he said quietly. “I don’t know what happened. But I know of the dwarf the burglar murmurs about in his sleep. The same dwarf who is hunting him.”

“Why would a dwarf be hunting the burglar?” Thorin murmured thoughtfully.

“Perhaps he has angered them,” Balin answered. “Although dwarves would only hunt someone who is not an orc or goblin if they had done some grievous hurt to their family.”

“Bilbo would not hurt anyone,” Thorin argued back immediately. 

“Dwarves can be greedy and possessive,” Nori said. “Not only of gold and precious materials. If I were to speculate, I would say that perhaps someone has grown possessive of the burglar. But it is not my place to speculate.” Nori closed his mouth and would not say anymore. He had already said too much. His suspicions were more extensive than he’d let on, but he would not reveal them when they so intensely invaded the hobbit’s privacy. Particularly if they were not true.

Nori shuddered and left the royal group to their murmurings, along with Dori who was still grumbling about not being trusted. If he did not know the possessive ugly side of dwarves so well, he would not be able to interpret Bilbo’s behaviour so clearly. 

He had to drag his head out of the dark path it was going towards. With a groan, he slumped beside Bofur, a dwarf he’d made fast friends with despite not knowing him before this quest. Although everyone seemed to make fast friends with him – his cheerful manner was just so…likable. 

“Gimme that,” he grumbled, stole the pipe straight out of Bofur’s mouth, ignored the protests of the dwarf beside him. Even with his pipe stolen, Bofur was still laughing. Not the usual reaction to Nori’s thievery. He blew smoke into the other dwarf’s face, trying to annoy or irritate him in some way. Instead, he laughed, again. 

“I hate dwarves,” he scowled, handing the pipe back. “How can you be so happy all the time, you forsaken thing? Are you ever sad?” His tone was frustrated, though he knew it wasn’t Bofur he was frustrated at.

“Always,” Bofur laughed, and blew smoke in his face in retaliation.

\---

The next day, a feeling of urgency swept over the group. Bofur woke Bilbo up at dawn with a gentle shake to the shoulder. “Thorin thinks yer should help with the search today, Bilbo,” he said, his face crinkled in a worried smile. “Ye okay to do that?”

“Of course I am,” Bilbo huffed. As long as he didn't end up in a group with Bifur. He clambered out of the blanket and stretched, then curled in and shivered. “Oh dear, it’s rather cold.”

Bofur rubbed his mittened hands up and down Bilbo’s arms. “Don’ ye have another coat?”

A little startled, Bilbo stared at the hands on his arms. Not threatening, not suggestive, if anything a little affectionate and warm. He took a deep breath, prepared for an onslaught of panic, but found the usual overwhelming fear was tamped down in a small knot of anxiety.

“I, uh, no I don’t,” he answered, still trying to get used to this new feeling of allowing extended touch. “But I’m okay, really. It was just a surprise, that’s all. Is there any breakfast?”

Bofur smiled and nodded. Though he didn’t appear to notice on the surface, he was pleased that Bilbo had not reacted badly to his touch. He hadn’t even meant to do it, it was an automatic reaction when people said they were cold. He grabbed Bilbo’s hand with his and dragged him over to Bombur.

Thorin noticed the linked hands and his lips turned down. He frowned, considering if he’d ever seen Bilbo being touched for any length of time by any dwarf other than himself. This was the first, unless you included the dangerous times when it was necessary. Was the burglar finally learning to accept and trust them? Would that mean he would not flinch away from Thorin’s approaches?

Bombur handed Bilbo a plate of nuts and dried fruits, and he smiled his thanks. Bifur noticed Bofur’s easy touches of the hobbit and blurted out in khuzdul, _“Bofur! Be careful.”_

Bofur turned to his cousin, his eyes frowning though his mouth was still tugged up in a smile. _“Careful of what, cousin?”_

 _“You are a dwarf,”_ Bifur reminded him. _“You shouldn’t make advances on our hobbit. It will only hurt him.”_

Thorin, who had previously only been half listening to the conversation, immediately tuned in. He had not realised Bofur had been…attempting to court the hobbit? And he was surprised by the lump in his throat caused by the thought. Sure, he'd grown...fond of their burglar, but not to the extent that he should be upset by this.

Bofur spluttered, “Makin’ advances?” He was so shocked, he’d accidentally reverted back to the common language. “Bifur, why would you even say that?”

Bilbo jumped to his feet, tension crackling between his shoulders. “That’s what you were doing?” he shouted. Almost everyone in the company flinched back in surprise. This was the first time they’d ever heard Bilbo raise his voice in such a way. “I thought you were my friend!”

Tears glared in Bilbo’s eyes. Bofur clutched at the flaps of his hat. “Bilbo, ye know I am,” he said desperately, even as he smiled. He reached towards the hobbit, an automatic way to comfort someone. Bilbo jumped back.

“No!” he yelled, tears on his cheeks now. “You are not my friend if you were – were making advances!” When Bofur continued to advance, trying to apologise, Bilbo picked up someone’s plate and flung it at him. “Stay back. You are just like Nuhji. I should have known. Draw me in with nice words and when I follow you, turn around and – and-” Bilbo was visibly shaking now, even as he backed away from the company. His voice turned low and his eyes downwards. “That’s all dwarves ever want isn’t it? A young soft body you can exploit and hurt for your own pleasure?”

“Bilbo, _please_ ,” Bofur was still trying to reach the hobbit.

Bilbo looked up and speared him with his cold gaze. “That’s what you’d like, isn’t it?” His voice was deadly calm. “A struggling body in your bed, just a toy to use? You are sick, all you dwarves – you’re all sick.” With that, Bilbo spun on his heel and sped away.

Bofur turned back to the company, his face fallen into heartbroken lines. They almost expected him to lift his face into a smile and make a joke. Instead, his bottom lip trembled. “I didn’t mean anything by it,” he begged. He tucked his hat low over his eyes and walked quickly in the opposite direction that Bilbo left in. 

The silence that descended over the company was so thick it could've been cut with a knife.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Summary:
> 
> The first group (Gloin, Dori, Ori) arrive back at camp at lunch to find the hobbit distressed and Bifur missing. Bilbo confirms that Bifur can understand what he said in common language. The group come to the conclusion that Bilbo had insulted Bifur mistakenly.
> 
> When the second group arrived back with Bofur, Bofur chases after Bifur armed with a weapon, as during Bifur's uncontrollable rages he cannot distinguish friend from enemy and instead assumes everyone is a threat.
> 
> when Bifur and Bofur returned, Dori prodded Bilbo by telling him to apologise to Bifur. Bifur grew somewhat angry by this, then pledged to Bilbo that he would avenge him after the quest was finished. Bifur refused to tell anyone what Bilbo had told him, as did Bilbo.
> 
> Thorin, Balin and Dwalin do not return until nightfall. When they returned, they were told about what happened by Dori. Dori was upset that Bilbo didn't trust them with the truth. Nori interrupted and accidentally revealed that he knew the dwarf Bilbo had spoken of. They speculate over what could cause a dwarf to hunt someone who was not an orc or goblin - Balin said only people who'd greviously hurt one's family, whereas Nori said some dwarves grew too possessive of other people.
> 
> Nori left to find comfort in the company of Bofur, who joked and smoked together.
> 
> The next day, Bilbo was woken up by Bofur. It was cold and Bofur reacted automatically by rubbing the hobbit's arms. Bilbo was surprised that he was only lsightly anxious and not panicking,and so allowed the continued touching. Bofur pulled him to breakfast with linked hands.
> 
> Bifur mistook this to believe that Bofur was attempting to flirt with the hobbit, and so warned Bofur not to. Bofur, shocked, accidentally revealed what Bifur had said by reverting to common. Bilbo grew very angry and felt betrayed by his friend making advances on him. When Bilbo shouted at Bofur, he referred to his assault in very clear terms, then both Bilbo and Bofur left the company in opppsite directions.
> 
> \---
> 
> The support for the last chapter was astounding, and I just want to thank you all very very much.


	16. realisations

Thorin found it hard to breathe. Whenever he inhaled, a sharp pain shot through his chest. He looked around the shellshocked faces of the company. The only one who did not look shocked was Bifur. “Bifur?” Thorin asked quietly, keeping his voice schooled into calmness. He could feel roiling anger beneath the smooth shield of calm, and he feared if he broke that calm, he would storm from the mountain to punish those who had hurt Bilbo in the ugliest way.

Bifur shook his head. “I don’t know much more than what you heard then,” he said in khuzdul, sounding so sad in a heavy way. “Except that there were three of them, of the dwarves that hurt him.”

“It is a wonder he joined us at all, if he suffered such cruelty at the hands of dwarves,” Thorin murmured, the pain in his chest increasing.

“You need to go after him,” Balin said, warning in his voice. “And someone after Bofur. And the rest of us need to continue looking for the door. We only have today.”

“I will go after our burglar,” Thorin decided. “Who will find Bofur?”

Bombur opened his mouth to offer, but Nori cut him off before he could start. “I will get him, then we’ll continue looking for the door,” the thief said, already jumping to his feet and heading away in the direction Bofur had left.

“I will do the same with Bilbo, if he…can,” Thorin hesitantly said. “We meet back at lunch.”

It did not take long to find Bilbo, as he’d not gone far from camp. He was curled against a large boulder, with his fist in his mouth. Thorin focused on not running towards him, knowing it would only frighten him. “Bilbo?” he called softly. “Bilbo, it’s just me.” He knelt down next to the hobbit, as close as he dared.

“Do not touch me, dwarf,” Bilbo snarled, his voice choked.

“I will never touch you, not once, if that’s what you wish, Bilbo,” Thorin said seriously. “Neither will any of my company. You have my word.”

“Why would I believe you?”

“If we wanted to hurt you, Bilbo, Gandalf would have known and he most certainly would not have allowed you to join us,” Thorin explained gently. “If you cannot trust us, at least trust the wizard.”

Bilbo sniffled pitifully. He did have a point. “I suppose you must all think I’m crazy.” He was feeling a little ashamed of his outburst earlier. To show so much emotion...

“Of course not. We’re all confused and worried. We wish we could help you and we wish you could find it in yourself to trust us enough to tell us what happened, despite our being dwarves. We’ve grown to care about you, Bilbo, and we don’t like to see you hurting.”

Bilbo choked back a sob. “People don’t care about me,” he cried. “They don’t listen, they don’t want to hear about it, they don’t care.”

“We care about you, Bilbo, whether you like it or not.”

Bilbo buried his face in the fabric of Thorin’s shirt. Thorin blinked down at him, beginning to lift his arms up to put around the hobbit when he remembered he’d said he would not touch. He lowered his hands to his sides.

“I was just starting to get used to being touched again,” Bilbo said, muffled by the fabric. “And then – then it sounded as though Bofur was, was wanting to – to touch me because he wanted me!” Bilbo shuddered. “Without even hinting it, let alone telling me.”

“I think it was a misunderstanding,” Thorin murmured to the hobbit. “Bifur thought that Bofur was coming on to you, so he warned him away. But I think Bofur was just touching you like a very good friend. If you notice, he is the same with his touches to Bombur and Bifur.”

“Oh dear,” Bilbo sniffled, wiping his face on the fabric, though Thorin did not mind. “I must apologise to him, I said such awful things. And to the rest of the company. Should I go back and do that now?”

Thorin resisted the urge to stroke his fingers through the curls on Bilbo’s head. “Nay, they are all looking for the door, so they will not be at camp.”

“Oh, yeah, about that,” Bilbo mumbled, lifting his head, flicking his gaze to make sure Thorin’s hands stayed where they were. “I found it. Or at least I found the stairs. Or at least I found stairs that seem to lead to where the map says the door should be.”

Thorin blinked down at him, a frown creasing his eyebrows. “When did you find it?” he asked, bewildered.

“Just before,” Bilbo answered. “I…ended up here on my way back. I’m not as slow as you dwarves are on your feet, you know.” He smiled feebly.

“Lead me there,” Thorin demanded, leaping to his feet, then softened his voice. “If you will, Bilbo.”

\---

When Nori found Bofur, the dwarf was sitting on a rock, his hat in his hands and his face buried in his hat. He did not hear Nori approaching – most people did not – and jumped when a hand fell on his shoulder.

He looked up, relaxing when he saw it was just Nori, and shoved his hat back on his head. His eyes were rimmed with red, though he wasn’t crying. In fact, it was quite possible he hadn’t been, and they were just irritated by the wool of the hat. “I’ve made a righ’ mess of things,” Bofur moaned. “And now Bilbo won’ wanna be my friend when he mos’ needs a friend, after everythin’ tha’s happened to him.”

“Don’t worry so much,” Nori said, shoving him over so he could also sit on the rock. “I think he was just overly upset. When he’s calmed down, he’ll see it was all just a big misunderstanding.”

They were quiet for a long moment, before Bofur tugged his face up into his usual grin, though his eyes stayed the same with no twinkle or brightness. “Thorin sent ye after me, huh?”

Nori shrugged. “I chose to come. I wanted to ask you, when did you become interested in the hobbit?”

Bofur groaned and tugged on his hat flaps. “Not you too! I’m no’ interested. He’s a good friend, and maybe I would’a been if I’d met him earlier. But not now.”

“What d’you mean by that?”

To his surprise, Bofur blushed, a deep red spreading across his cheeks. “I, uh, I’m no’ a dwarf who’s interested in more’an one person at a time, ye know?”

“That doesn’t mean…” Nori paused, mentally slapping himself for not understanding in the first place. “Oh! You mean you left someone behind to come on this quest? So did Bomber, didn’t he? And Gloin, he doesn’t shut up about it.”

“Nay, I didn’ leave them behind,” Bofur muttered.

Nori grinned wickedly. “It’s someone in the company, isn’t it? You’re an idiot, Bofur, a right idiot for wanting anyone in this company.”

“Let’s go look for the door,” Bofur said suddenly and stood. “We haven’ got all day, do we?”

“Well, we kind of do,” Nori muttered, following the dwarf. 

Bofur shoved him, laughing, but his eyes remained hooded. His laughter faded as he spoke. “I’m goin’ to kill tha’ dwarf who hur’ Bilbo,” Bofur said fiercely, his accent thickening, his eyes flashing. “I’ll join Bifur when he goes.” His smile was dangerous, but then it fell from his face. “I’ve never heard of a dwarf doing – doin’ that before. Men, aye, I hear awful things abou’ wha’ men can do, but never a dwarf.”

“It happens,” Nori said quietly. “When dwarves get too possessive of someone they want, it happens.”

Bofur shuddered and wrapped his arms around himself. “Poor Bilbo,” he murmured. 

\---

They moved their camp to the bottom of the stairs, when they’d all been informed of the door’s whereabouts. Most of the company climbed their way slowly to the ledge where the wall was obvious in its blankness. Bombur, tired and patting his large stomach thoughtfully while staring at the long set of stairs, decided to remain behind with their belongings. He spoke softly, “If I join you, I will only slow you down. I will find somewhere to hide our belongings and then climb up.”

Nobody wanted to stay behind with Bombur – they all wanted to see the door open – so they decided he could take care of himself, and they all spent the rest of the afternoon climbing.

By the time they reached the ledge, the sun was close to the horizon. “There is still an hour until sundown,” Balin gathered. Some of the group split off to examine the wall, trying to find any evidence of the door. 

Bilbo sat down near the edge, staring off into the distance. Bifur settled near him, baring his teeth at anybody who looked like they might inquire about that morning. Balin, somehow, convinced him that he was not interested in talking about what Bilbo did not wish to speak about, and joined the hobbit where he was sitting.

“When we open the door, you will be sent down there,” Balin said calmly. “It was what you were brought along for, after all.”

Somehow, Bilbo could not find it in himself to be afraid. “What am I meant to do?” he asked.

“You must find a very precious gem,” Balin explained. “It is called the Arkenstone. The King’s Jewel. When we have it, we can call upon all other dwarf kingdoms to rally against the dragon, if it is indeed still alive.”

“How am I meant to get past a live dragon?”

“If it is alive, it has been quiet for many, many years, meaning that it must be sleeping. The dragon will not recognise your scent, so hopefully you can slip past it without awakening it.”

“This jewel, what does it look like? I imagine there is many jewels in the dragon’s hoard.”

“Aye, but there is only one Arkenstone. It is approximately this size.” Balin indicated with his hands. “It is a white colour, of sorts. To be truthful, lad, there is not really a way to explain the Arkenstone’s appearance. You will simply recognise it when you see it.”

Bilbo hummed doubtfully. 

“It is time,” Balin said quietly, watching the sun sink lowly into the horizon. They stood, joined the group staring at the wall for any sign of a door to appear. Thorin stood the closest, the key clutched in his hand, a painful amount of hope shining in his blue eyes.

The sun sank lower, almost half disappeared beyond the horizon. It continued sinking, as the rock wall remained stubbornly bear. “Where is it?” Bofur murmured. “Where is the door?” Bilbo flinched at his voice; he had not spoken to the dwarf since that morning. He did not know how to approach him. 

The last rays of sunlight were extinguished, and twilight overtook the sky. Silence echoed over the ledge. When Bilbo looked at Thorin, the broken gaze with which he stared at the wall cut him to the quick. “Are we…” the dwarf king’s voice broke; he licked his lips and continued. “Are we not in the right place? Is it not Durin’s Day? Balin, what did we do wrong?” The desperate need for an answer was painfully clear.

“We have lost the light,” Balin said simply.

“It did say the last light, did it not?” Bilbo asked, his eyebrows furrowed. He skimmed over the map’s instructions in his head. Riddles fascinated him, and this one was absurdly simple. “The last light would be the moon, wouldn’t it? Or does Durin’s Day end when the sun goes down?”

The company stared at him, a little shocked they had not thought this beforehand. Hope rekindled in a few of the dwarves’ faces, though some remained sceptical.

When the moon finally peered out from behind the cloud, the door shone. Not all at once; it appeared as a slight shimmer, a slight change in the rock face, then it solidified and a remarkably ornate door showed itself. The key hole was revealed, in a crevice Bilbo did not believe existed before. 

Thorin drew back his shoulders and unlocked the door. As the key turned, Bilbo could not look away; not from the door, but from the dwarf whose clothes were ratty and torn, whose hair was tangled in a dark fall down his back, but who radiated with a sense of power, of hope, of something admirable.

Of something that could be trusted, a quality that said he would not betray any whose trust he received.

Bilbo tried to swallow past the lump in his throat but could not dislodge it. As the others peered out of Thorin’s shoulder to catch a glimpse inside the darkened doorway that had been revealed, Bilbo found his gaze pinned only to the dwarf he’d somehow, awfully, lost his heart to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry I've been gone so long! I got awful sick for a week and couldn't do anything, and then I hadto play catch up with uni. My last exam is tomorrow, so hopefully I should be updating fairly regularly again!


	17. dragon

When he could finally tear his gaze away, Bilbo noticed how emotional his dwarves were getting, over simply walking through a rocky doorway. Balin, the second through after Thorin, was clutching the arm of his brother with a grip that looked painful. Dwalin’s face was very white. Next who followed through were Gloin and Dori, both looking about each other in wonder, memory caught in their gaze. Nori kept his emotions in check, though you could see a subtle shine in his eyes. Bofur’s craggy face was almost cracked in half with his smile.

The only dwarf who did not seem overcome was Ori, who had been very young when Erebor had emptied – or possibly not born at all, Bilbo pondered. He wasn’t entirely sure. 

When they had all crowded into the dark tunnel-like path, the company all turned towards Bilbo. The hobbit blinked and gulped. Now was his part of the journey. Why he’d been asked along in the first place. 

Thorin moved until he was standing in front of Bilbo, the hobbit’s face lifted up. He placed his hands on Bilbo’s shoulders, hesitantly, watching for any sign in the hobbit’s face that he should draw back. “There’s no shame in turning back when you can’t do something,” Thorin said quietly. Fear beat next to his heart at the thought of this tiny creature going down alone to face Smaug, the dragon who had swallowed his mother in fire. “None of us would judge you for saying you can’t do this.”

Nori stepped forward, pulled out an unlabelled tin. “I got this in Lake-town,” he said to the king and the hobbit. “If you can’t go, Bllbo, I can. This is a scented powder that will cover my dwarf smell. Just so you know there’s another option.”

Bilbo shook his head, swallowed down the growing lump in his throat. “No,” he said weakly, cleared his throat and tried again. “No, I must do this. I said I would, and I will keep my word.” Bilbo nodded to himself. "I will go now.”

Thorin closed his eyes and squeezed Bilbo’s shoulders. He could not find it himself to say the words that were echoing in his veins. Could not whisper anything but, “Come back to us, burglar.”

Before Bilbo could leave, Bofur bounced up, a hopeful type of feeling to his step. “I can’t le’ you leave like this,” he exclaimed. “Please accept my apology, Bilbo, for this mornin’. You know I was never comin’ on to you or nothing, Bifur jus’ misunderstood, but uh, nonetheless, I am very sorry for any pain I caused you, and I hope one day yer’ll be able to accept my friendship again.”

“Oh, Bofur,” Bilbo murmured, then smiled, a little hesitantly. “I wanted to say sorry too. I overreacted, you didn’t even really do anything wrong. I hope you’ll forgive me.”

“There’s nothing to forgive, Bilbo.” Bofur’s grin was so wide, it looked a little painful.

After that, Bilbo’s stomach felt a little less tight.

Balin walked him down the tunnel as far as the old dwarf dared, again offering him a chance to back out. It wasn’t until Balin had left that Bilbo took a moment to simply breathe. He was going to be potentially trying to sneak past a sleeping dragon, yet at that moment he felt oddly calm.

He took in a lungful of breath and continued on.

\---

The roar made the entire mountain tremble.

Bilbo, shaking and invisible, his fist with his little golden ring clenched tight, tried to keep his small body as still as possible. He held his jacket closed tight, unsure if the dragon could tell he had the Arkenstone clutched against his chest, stuffed down his shirt. 

Every time the dragon spoke, he closed his eyes and thought about his dwarves huddled in the tunnel.

\---

“What was that?” Ori asked, her small voice pitiful in the silence after the first roar.

“That was a dragon,” Dwalin growled, his fear evident only to those who knew him best. He’d somehow manoeuvred Ori behind himself, though what that would do if a dragon crashed through the rock wall, no one knew.

The sight of Bilbo running up the tunnel made all the dwarves cry out in relief. They were so sure the burglar had been lost to dragonfire. “We must get inside the mountain,” Bilbo panted. “The dragon has left the mountain, we must close the door.”

Dwalin immediately went to heave the door closed, but stopped at an alarmed cry.

“Bombur’s out there,” Bofur shouted. “We have to go get him, we have to save him.” Bofur started towards the door when a burning gust swept in.

“We cannot get to him in time,” Dwalin said quietly.

“No!” Bofur screamed. “I will go get him, if I must. I canno’ leave him down there.”

He would have run straight out the door if Nori had not wrapped his arms around him and physically used his weight to keep him there. Dwalin hefted the door shut, closing his eyes at the anguished shouts behind him. It was none too soon, for as he closed the door, he caught a glimpse of Smaug’s fiery scales. He turned back around, looked to Thorin who had not taken his eyes off the hobbit. “We must go further down the tunnel,” he said hoarsely.

Bofur whimpered as the dwarves started down the tunnel. “He was my little brother,” he whispered brokenly. “I was supposed to keep him safe. He was my little brother.”

Thorin approached the griefstricken miner, pulled him close by a hand at the back of his neck and touched foreheads. “He will be remembered,” Thorin said, only a slight hint of roughness to indicate his sorrow, “as a hero of Erebor, if we survive this.” Quieter, he said, this time only for Bofur’s ears, “He would have wanted you to go on.”

As they travelled down the tunnel, they could hear the sounds of a giant force being exerted upon the mountain. “He is trying to break though,” Bilbo whispered, lips white. 

It seemed hours later when the horribly loud sounds ceased and quiet fell over the mountain. “Where did he go?’ Ori asked in a hushed tone. Nobody answered.

“We’ve got to find a way out of the mountain before Smaug comes back,” Thorin ordered.

Bilbo followed the company around in a daze. The image of a waking dragon was not likely to leave his head any time soon. He licked his lips. “He’s gone to Lake-town,” he whispered. The dwarf closest to him, Dori, turned around with a questioning look on his face. Bilbo repeated his statement. “That’s what he said. The dragon. That Lake-town would have helped us, that he could smell men and fish on my clothes. That they would pay.”

Thorin had gone very still and white. Gloin moaned in worry. The entire company thought about Fili and Kili and Oin and hoped.

\---

There was no way out of the mountain except for the front gate, which no one wanted to risk yet. They camped in the rubble and ate smaller and smaller portions. Bilbo noticed that Thorin had taken to disappearing for long periods at a time.

On the third night, the hobbit followed the dwarf during one of these times. It was possible he’d simply gone to relieve himself in some way away from the company, and if that was so, Bilbo could leave immediately to preserve his privacy. But he was concerned by the flatness he’d glimpsed in the normally fiery blue eyes when he came back from an hours-long walk.

It was through this that Bilbo discovered he was escaping to the dragon’s hoard, where he would wander for hours among the glittering gold, simply drinking in the sight. 

Bilbo did not know what to make of it, but whatever Thorin was doing, it did not bode well.

\---

On the fourth day, Thorin returned from scouting the front gate with a carefully guarded hope on his face. “A raven of Erebor has returned to the mountain with news,” he said to the entire company. “Smaug has been slain in Lake-town by Bard the Bowman. The dragon is dead!”

Even as the company cheered, Thorin did not join him. He thought of Fili and Kili, his sister-sons, whose smiles had most likely been extinguished by dragonfire. 

The thought made his chest physically ache, like someone had run him through with his own sword. He turned his thoughts away. “We must bar off the gates,” he said loudly over the cheering. “News of the dragon’s demise will spread. They will look to the mountain with greed, they will want to take our gold from us. And after that, we must search for the Arkenstone.”

When Thorin’s eyes skipped over Bilbo, dismissive, uncaring, Bilbo finally truly felt afraid.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i get tired of reading the same scene over and over so sorry guys no bilbo and the dragon scene.
> 
> also. ah. all of you have been so worried about bilbo with thorin's gold sickness if it happens. i'm afraid i'm not kind enough to cut it out. sorry bilbo. angst ahead.


	18. survival

The day after the dragon was announced dead, a large dirty figure stumbled through the front gate, climbing over the beginnings of the barricade. Nearly all the dwarves were gathered there, working to build up the wall as per their king’s orders, though said king was entrenched in the treasury. Bilbo was seated with his dark cloak drawn around him, his mouth downturned.

The first one to notice the figure was Dori, who gasped almost theatrically loud, and exclaimed, “Is that…? No, it can’t be. Who goes there?”

When he lifted his head, the dwarves could recognise him simply by the size of his chin. “B-Bombur!” Bofur strangled out, tearing away from where he was stacking rocks and launching himself headfirst into the dwarf’s stomach. Bifur followed close behind. All three family members were openly crying.

“How did you survive?” Dwain asked, a hint of wonder and disbelief in his question.

Bombur answered from between Bofur and Bifur. “I heard the dragon roar and knew I had to hide. It was sheer luck there was a small cave nearby, I took a few packs and barricaded myself in there by piling a large wall of rocks up. It took me days to take down the wall when all had gone quiet, but I had enough food and water in the packs to survive. How are you all not starving, we lost all the other packs to the dragon?”

“Balin found some old stores of preserved food,” Ori piped up. “It mostly tastes like ash and it’s not much, but it’s something.”

Theoretically, their small stores were rationed evenly among the members, but Bilbo had observed that this did not even come close to happening. Thorin, for his part, barely ate anything these days, instead choosing to spend mealtimes in the treasure hoard, and so his share was doled out among the rest. Dwalin split his amongst himself, Bilbo and Ori, which then caused Balin to split his share with Dwain. Dori handed off most of his to Ori, and occasionally Bilbo had caught him sneaking some into Nori’s when he wasn’t looking. 

Now that Bombur had returned, Bilbo was sure Bifur and Bofur would be sharing their portions with him too. 

When the tears were finally all spent, and the hugs grew old, Bombur was sent to sit beside Bilbo, as he was told he was not to work until he was suitably recovered from his ordeal. Bilbo grasped the dwarf’s hand for a moment, as intimate as he could get without panic overwhelming him. By Bombur’s teary smile, Bilbo thought he understood.

“I am so glad you all survived,” Bombur said quietly. “What happened to the dragon?”

“Bard from Lake-town killed the dragon when Lake-town was attacked,” Bilbo answered, then turned bitter. “And now we will pay that back by barring entry to the mountain, when no doubt their town has been destroyed.”

Bombur wrung his hands. Out of all the dwarves, he was perhaps the one least likely to want to hoard their gold away. “Why are we doing that? They must be in need.”

“Thorin ordered it.” Bilbo sighed. “You cannot disobey the orders of your king. I would give Lake-town my share of the gold if I could, but Thorin cannot see reason at the moment. I hope it will pass soon.”

Bilbo bit his tongue. The pain and the worry and the fear he felt over Thorin’s changes came through so clearly, he felt anyone would be able to tell what he felt for the dwarf.

Bombur merely hummed in reply; he was always a dwarf of little words.

Bilbo stood and left the company behind to their work. He did not know what to do.

\---

Stealing the Arkenstone and bartering it with Bard and the Elven king of Mirkwood for his dwarves’ safety had probably not been his best plan. But that was where he found himself, in the tent of the leaders. Gandalf was there as well, though all he had contributed so far was gratitude that Bilbo had been alright.

“The dwarf king will give us our promised gold in return for this jewel?” Bard asked, a slight frown on his face.

“He will do anything for this jewel,” Bilbo replied.

“We must also ask for an alliance,” Gandalf piped up from around his pipe. “The orc army is on its way, we all need to fight together.”

While Bilbo’s face paled – _orc army?_ – Thranduil rolled his eyes towards the ceiling. “Not this again, Mithrandir. You have a tendency to exaggerate things. I’m sure if an orc pack comes our way, my elves will dispatch them easily.”

“It is not simply an orc pack coming!” Gandalf insisted.

Thranduil sighed, and left the tent, remaining gone for a remarkably long time. Awkward silence descended on the three occupants while they waited for the return of the elven king. When he returned, he was pale, even for an elf. “We will exchange the Arkenstone for a temporary alliance and our share of the treasure. We go to the sealed gates at dawn.”

His tone brooked no argument. What he’d done to finally believe Gandalf, he did not let on.

Bilbo left the tent with full intentions to scale his way back up the rock wall into the mountain. He knew come tomorrow they would not accept him as their friend any longer, but he wanted to have just this last night surrounded by familiar snoring.

Gandalf appeared beside him. “You cannot go back to the mountain, Bilbo,” he said in his creaky voice. “We can protect you here.”

“I must say my goodbyes,” Bilbo murmured.

Whatever he conveyed in his statement, it seemed to work. Gandalf sighed, age weary, and said, “Please be careful, my dear hobbit. I fear what will become of Thorin Oakenshield.”

\---

When Bilbo was safely back in the mountain, he stood over the group. They still all huddled together in their sleep, despite the fact there was plenty of room to spread out. The only one who slept alone was Thorin, though Kili’s hand was stretched out towards his uncle in hope.

After the gates had been boarded up with rock, they all felt safe enough to sleep without someone on watch, so they were all snoring and snuffling. There was no questioning eyes from any dwarf.

Bilbo sniffled. He felt tired, a tired that scratched itself down to his bone and would not be cured with sleep. He missed Thorin, his old Thorin, with an ache in his chest. The Thorin that currently existed reminded him simply of a husk of the previous one, a sad imitation.

He sat down, shoulders hunched. An odd sadness flowed through him, weighted his limbs with an alarming heaviness. Tomorrow, when the dwarves found out what he’d done, nevermind his motivations, he would lose them all. Bofur would not smile at him, Bifur would not protect him, Bombur would not discuss cooking with him. Dori would not mother him, Nori would not show him his knife tricks, Ori would not sit down and talk writing with him. Gloin would not mention his family again to him, Oin would not bother to use his ear trumpet to hear him. Balin would never speak of dwarven history with him, Dwalin would not offer his affection in the form of food. Fili and Kili would never laugh with him. Thorin…

He supposed he’d already lost Thorin.

Bilbo startled when he felt a presence beside him, and looked up in surprise. It was Fili, mouth drawn into a frown and bruises under his eyes.

Fili gazed at the burglar; the hobbit’s face was distraught and there were tears on his cheek Fili didn’t think he was aware of. He didn’t like being touched, but Fili thought that in this instance what he needed was a show of some sort of affection. The dwarf carefully put his arm around Bilbo’s shoulders, making sure he only touched clothes and not skin.   
“I know,” Fili murmured. He had noticed the looks Bilbo had pinned to Thorin’s back, the sad staring when he thought no one was looking at him. Fili himself had found he had also taken to staring at Thorin at times, wondering where his uncle had gone. “I miss him, too.”

To Fili’s shock, Bilbo curled himself to his side, small and shaking. He did not dare wrap his other arm around the hobbit – he remembered quite clearly what had happened when Thorin had tried to hug him – so he hoped he could convey some comfort through the one arm.

They sat there in silence for a long time, while the snores of the rest of the company shot through the air. Eventually, Fili realised Bilbo had fallen asleep, his eyes a little swollen and his mouth still downturned. He thought about going to sleep himself – he had not been sleeping much lately, in this desolate mountain, nothing like the Erebor he’d heard about – but was worried he’d snuggle up to the hobbit in his sleep too much. It was a habit he’d developed in childhood, to cuddle anyone close while sleeping, and he’d not yet broken out of it.

He slowly leant back until they were both lying, Bilbo’s head on his arm, simply so the hobbit would not hurt his neck by sleeping in such an odd position for too long. Fili made sure there was at least a few inches between them, apart from his arm which Bilbo seemed intent on keeping.

Fili kept himself awake by attempting to come up with some way to bring Thorin back to himself. It was with fear that he realised he wasn’t sure if anything would work.


	19. broken

“The elven king and Bard of Lake-town wish to speak with the king again,” Dwalin said gruffly, loud enough to rouse Bilbo from his sleep.

“I have already told them, I will not share our birthright with them,” Thorin bit out. “They have no right to any of the gold in these walls.”

Multiple sighs followed Thorin’s statement. “The people of Lake-town have nothing,” Fili said in an unusually serious voice. Bilbo realised with a startle he had been using the dwarf’s arm as a pillow, though the actual dwarf was not close enough for Bilbo to panic. Still, he sat up, swallowing down the smallest bit of anxiety that had risen. “The dragon took most of their town, and who knows how many lives with it,” Fili continued. “The least we can do is offer enough for them to restart their lives and to rebuild Dale.”

Thorin turned to his nephew, an unrecognisable snarl on his face. “They will get nothing from us, nephew,” he growled. “Did men offer us help when we wandered, starving and hopeless? So why should we give them our gold when they have done nothing to earn it?”

An ugly silence followed these words. Finally, Dwain spoke. “They say they have something valuable to trade. I asked what but they said they would only speak with the king.”

When Bilbo heard the disgust in Dwalin speaking of the king, he looked at the dwarf in surprise. Of all the dwarves, Dwalin had always seemed the most unquestionably loyal, the one who would follow Thorin into the depths of hell without asking for reason. And yet he was barely disguising his contempt for his king at the current moment.

Thorin sighed gustily. “Fine, we shall all gather at the top of the barricade. I do not trust them not to try something underhanded. Kili, have your bow ready.” Kili blanched but obeyed his uncle anyway.

It was with great trepidation that Bilbo climbed to the top of the barricade with his dwarves. They all stood in a line, feet planted on sturdy stone, gazing down at Bard and Thranduil. Gandalf was also there, off to the side and puffing on his pipe, as though he were not at all interested in the proceedings.

“Speak, bowman,” Thorin cried harshly.

Bard inclined his head in greeting. “Hail, King Thorin. We have come to offer something we understand you value highly in exchange for an alliance for the oncoming war, as well as gold enough to rebuild the great city of Dale and the return of the heirlooms of Mirkwood.”

“What do we need an alliance for?” Thorin asked, confusion in his voice, then turned to anger. “You wish to seek entrance to our mountain so that you may steal from our treasury, is that not it?”

Bilbo almost scoffed. “No, King Thorin,” Bard replied sharply, trying not to glare at the elven king beside him who was snickering, though he sounded more incredulous than amused. “An army of orcs and wargs march upon Erebor. We seek an alliance against these enemies.”

For a second, a split second, Bilbo thought he saw Thorin – his Thorin, not the one who was twisted with gold lust – in the alarm that had flitted across his face at news of the enemy army. “And what do you offer?” Thorin asked, more calmly.

Bilbo focused on his breathing now, as Bard withdrew the Arkenstone from his coat.

The sheer outrage that tore from Thorin’s throat made Bilbo flinch back. He hadn’t heard such anger since the hobbits in Bree had burnt off his feet hair. He almost expected to feel the burn again, the agony of flame brought too close to skin. “How came you by this, thieves?” Thorin’s voice was almost dangerously low.

“It was given to us freely,” Bard said.

“You lie!” Thorin roared.

By how much anger was shaking through Thorin’s body, Bilbo feared he would grab Kili’s bow and shoot an arrow through the bowman himself. Bilbo took a deep breath, choking down on his thundering heart. “He does not lie, Thorin,” he said, somehow managing to keep his words under control. He could feel a scream building up inside his body but he kept it down under his belly.

When Thorin’s blue eyes turned to him, Bilbo’s heart wrenched. It was nothing like the dwarf he’d known before; in giving away the Arkenstone he’d broken what was left of that dwarf.

In his silence, Bilbo thought to explain. “We can’t fight against an entire army of elves and men, Thorin, and even if Dain’s armies arrive in time, which you seem convinced will save you, there is a high likelihood that some of this company will die in a war over nothing. Did you not think of Fili and Kili? You would risk their lives for the sake of your precious gold?”

The last question had all but been spat out.

When Thorin’s eyes narrowed, cold and dead and furious, Bilbo could not help but stumble back. He had spoken harshly to a dwarf. A dwarf who was much bigger and stronger than him, a dwarf who had numerous companions that would do as he asked.

“You used-up burglar,” Thorin snarled, and Bilbo’s blood ran cold. “You disgraceful hobbit. You have betrayed us all.” When Thorin turned his gaze from him, Bilbo felt the dismissal all the way down to his toes. The king looked to Dwalin. “Throw him over the edge.”

Bard called out in alarm from below, but nobody acknowledged him. Dwalin stared at his king as though he’d never seen him before. “When I offered to stay behind with Bilbo in Lake-town if he hadn’t awoken,” Dwalin said slowly, “I trusted you with the lives of my brother and my beloved. Now, I would not even trust you with the lives of your own sister-sons.”

Thorin looked as though he’d been slapped, and in that moment Bilbo had hope. But his eyes shuttered, his face twisted back into its ugly snarl. “Dwalin, son of Fundin, you are hereby banished from the kingdom of Erebor. You may not enter this mountain again, on pain of death.”

Dwalin’s face whitened so much, it was almost comical, though he did not protest against his king. Balin gasped and made to step forward but stopped at the shake of his brother’s head.

“Thorin,” Bilbo cried and stepped forward, unsure what exactly he could say or do to repair this.

He stopped abruptly when a blade came to rest on the hollow of his throat. “Do not speak, Halfling,” the king growled. But Bilbo did not hear him over the buzzing in his ears. The last time a dwarf had held a blade to him… the last time…a dwarf…

All he could see was the inn room, its rickety bed and off-white sheets. The door had just closed behind him; he’d followed the dwarf when he said he had more carvings to show him, that he wished to sell them and was it possible such a lovely hobbit would care to see his wares?

Then the door had closed.

Then the other two dwarves had looked up from where they were seated and grinned their wolf smiles.

Then Nuhji had a blade at his throat and a whisper in his ear of not a scream, not a shout, not even a word.

\---

When the hobbit screamed, the elves and men in the nearby camps had stared to the mountain in horror. Bard had tucked the Arkenstone in his coat and had his bow out, though he was not entirely sure what to shoot as it appeared the dwarf with the funny hat had grasped Thorin’s wrist, pushing the blade away from the hobbit’s throat. Even Thranduil appeared somewhat ruffled by the sheer terror in the scream.

Though the direct threat had been removed – remarkably easily as Thorn had become still and unresponsive – the hobbit kept screaming. And screaming. Oin rushed forward, patting his hands over the hobbit to see if he had some injury no one was aware of, but there was nothing, not even a mark where Thorin had held the blade.

When the screaming finally stopped, ceasing with a final gargle on Bilbo’s part, Oin tried to rouse him with no response. He simply stared, unblinking and blank. Oin wrung his hands anxiously. “I don’t have anything to help this,” he moaned. “He needs an elven healer, or perhaps the wizard.”

“Right,” Bofur said with determination, his normally cheerful face glinting with anger. He removed his coat and wrapped it around the hobbit, then lifted the little body with ease and turned to Bombur. It took no time at all to have a complicated knot tied around Bofur’s waist and upper legs with the assistance of his brother. “Sorry, Bilbo,” he murmured before slinging the hobbit over his shoulder, keeping a tight hold around his thighs. With the rope tied securely around part of the mountain, Bombur kept a steady hold of the rope and slowly released it as Bofur scaled down the side with his legs bracing against the rock. Once at the bottom, he untied the knots and shifted Bilbo back to a more comfortable position.

Dwalin followed, though before he left he leant close to his brother’s ear and whispered, “Take care o’ Ori for me.” He sighed and added, “And Thorin if you can.”

He expected his brother to be surprised by the admission of his beloved’s name, but instead Balin merely nodded with an unhappy but knowing smile. Of course he knew. His older brother made it his business to know everything.

Then he followed Bofur down by swiftly climbing down the rope, no need for securing without the added weight of a hobbit.

\---

When they made their way back inside the mountain, the company watched their king break.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i feel its necessary to direct you guys to this photo of me as bilbo from the last weekend [here](http://zuiger-phobia.tumblr.com/post/134329590465/i-am-literally-bilbo-and-nobody-can-tell-me) (yes i am the tiniest man i know)
> 
> also!! I have finally seen the extended bofa!! it only recently came out here, but i saw it the other day, and it is soo much better than the cinema one. 
> 
> sorry for rambling on my fic, ihave no one as into the hobbit in my life as i am, so i'm afraid i must vent somewhere. 
> 
> thank you all so much for the comments and everything. :)


	20. divisions

Bard offered his horse to rest the hobbit on, on their short way back to the camps of the elves and men among the ruins of Dale. Bofur simply shook his head, pulling his limp friend closer to his chest. Whatever fiend had taken over Thorin’s body would meet the end of Bofur’s mattock, as soon as this war had been resolved. Not enough to kill, mind you, just in case the actual Thorin was in there somewhere, but there were many, many injuries a body could recover from.

As they made their way into the camp, Thranduil said, with some reluctance, that he would retrieve his best healer. After all, it had been the hobbit that had given them their leverage. Bofur turned to Gandalf, whose pointed hat had been pulled down so low, his eyes were in shadow.

“Wha’ can we do for him, Gandalf?” the miner asked, subconsciously tightening his hold.

Gandalf sighed, long and weary. “I’m fearful that Bilbo is beyond even my help now,” he murmured. “My poor Bilbo…”

“Well, there has t’be something we can do!” Dwalin blustered.

In his arms, the bundle of hobbit stirred. “Bilbo?” Bofur asked, hopeful. “Can you hear me?” Worried the hobbit would panic at the thought of being in a dwarf’s arms, Bofur quickly found an empty tent and laid him back on the grass. Dwalin and Gandalf followed. Bard had disappeared sometime after they’d entered camp.

“No, no, no, please,” Bilbo whimpered. “Please, I won’t tell anyone, please just let me go.” His eyes were open, but he was in no way aware of his surroundings. He curled up, in such a position that it appeared his lower belly was in pain.

The whimpers turned to screams than back to whimpers again. For hours, the two dwarves sat beside their friend as he battled nightmares no one else could see. Bofur wept openly for the sheer pain he could not stop, and Dwalin kept such a tight grip on his axe that his knuckles went white.

“We will kill them,” Dwalin swore quietly at some point during their watch. He bared his teeth. “Those dwarves, I will make them scream as much as he has three times over before the end.”

And Bofur had every plan to join him.

\---

When Bilbo woke – for lack of a better word, as he had not been sleeping – his throat was raw and the tent around him was completely unfamiliar. Before he’d been swallowed into that room in Bree, he’d been in the mountain… Oh.

He swallowed back the pain he felt at the memory of Thorin’s broken, empty expression when he’d realised his burglar had betrayed him, and instead focused on his surroundings.

He was lying on the ground in a small tent, and Bofur and Dwalin were with him. Bofur had his face buried in his hat and was seated beside him, whereas Dwalin was at the entrance of the tent, an axe grasped in his hand. When Dwalin glanced back in the room – which he’d been doing often since he’d taken up this position – he saw with shock the hobbit had risen up on his elbows.

“Bilbo,” Dwalin said, relieved, “you are with us?”

Bofur peered out from behind his hat with hope shining in his eyes. Seeing Bilbo nod, he exclaimed, “Oh, thank Mahal.”

“I…” Bilbo rasped.

“Oh, here, water,” Bofur said, shoving forward his water skin. “You’ve be’n screamin’ on and off for the past few hours, your throat must be sore.”

His mind was too fuzzy to consider that, as he took a long sip of the water. His ravaged throat felt slightly soothed. “Where are we?” he asked instead.

“In the elven and men camp,” Dwalin answered. With sorrow, Bilbo recalled that Dwalin had been banished, and all because of him. “An elven healer came to try and help, bu’ they said there was nothin’ to do but wait. Are you… okay?”

Bilbo scrubbed a hand over his face. “I don’t know,” he admitted softly. “Probably? They were just memories. I should not have broken down so. I should have been stronger, but Thorin of all people holding a blade to my throat, like Nuhji, was just too much when I… when I…” Bilbo gulped down the rest of his sentence.

Dwalin sighed and left his stance at the entrance. “When you love him,” he said finally, arms folded. Bofur blinked and volleyed his gaze between Bilbo and Dwalin.

“Aye,” Bilbo sighed, and his shoulders sagged. Too long had he been fighting his affection and trust for his company of dwarves. He could do so no longer. Without his looking, his heart had decided they were worthy of his trust, and he was only now just catching up. “If it were a man I did not know, or an elf, or even one of the company I would not have… broken so. But I can’t look at Thorin and see Nuhji. I simply wouldn’t survive if the gold lust turned him into that.”

Bilbo turned his pleading eyes to Dwalin. Such raw emotion and pain coiled in their depths, that the hobbit had never allowed himself to reveal before. “He won’t, will he?” he begged. “He’ll get better. He has to.”

Dwalin could not meet his eyes.

Bofur looked down at his hands, swollen and calloused with hard work for little pay in his woollen mittens, and he remembered pushing Thorin’s wrist down, the sword away from the pale, fragile throat of his friend. He remembered the shock, the shame, the regret in the blue eyes of his king. There was hope, perhaps, but Bofur had to wonder if maybe his optimistic outlook hadn’t clouded his memories, so that he may give this hope to his friend, who needed something to hold on to.

And even if there was something there… when Thorin reentered the mountain, when he was drawn back to the treasury and gazed upon the cursed gold, it would be gone.

Even though Bofur’s heart was breaking for his friend, he still smiled and said cheerfully, “I’m sure you’d no’ give up until he was better again, and if anyone can get anythin’ done, it’s our burglar!” Even if he wasn’t sure what he’d said was entirely true, the watery smile Bilbo gave him was worth the lie.

Then the smile fell and it was back to a pained expression. “Have I been banished, like…?” Bilbo was going to say like Dwalin, everyone in the tent heard it in the unspoken air and the grimace on Dwalin’s face.

Bofur cleared his throat, just to break the awkward silence, then said, “I don’ know, but it’s prob’ly best you don’ return to the mountain jus’ yet. After the battle, we’ll fight t’ get both of you back into the mountain, I’m sure. But for now, we can stay wit’ the men.”

“You should go back,” Dwalin said, the hint of gruffness the only giveaway to the emotion he felt when he heard that they would fight for him. He knew Balin would do so, as best he could without angering the king, but to hear Bofur speak as though the entire company found him worth enough to argue with a sick king… it was something.

Bofur blinked, almost comically unsure in expression for such a confident dwarf. “To the mountain? But we gotta look af’er Bilbo!”

“You have kin still in there,” Dwalin reminded him gently. Or at least as gently as he could get without thinking about Ori. “If you stay too long, Thorin will think you have chosen the side of two traitors over your king. I can’t say what he would do in this state of mind, but you should be there to protect your kin nonetheless.”

The unspoken warning sat heavily on Bofur’s chest. The idea that his king would take his anger towards him out on Bombur and Bifur…it was perhaps the only thing Dwalin could have said to make him return.

“I suppose,” Bofur murmured. He fiddled with his hat before fixing Dwalin with a glare. “You better look after him. Make sure someone stops him from doing somethin’ stupid like joinin’ the battle.” Dwalin nodded curtly and only then did Bofur make his goodbyes.

As he walked back to the mountain, Bofur worried about the two he’d left behind. And about his brother and his cousin that he’d left in the mountain with a sick king. And the oncoming war. The entire way walking to the mountain, he kept his hat low and his thoughts sombre. And even though no one walked with him, his smile remained.

\---

When Bofur made it to the front gates, he found the rope had been left hanging – whether for his return or simply because they forgot about it, he did not know. He gave the end a few hard yanks, just to make sure it was still tied firmly at the top. To climb up the side was possibly not the safest thing to do, when he could fall and injure himself right before a battle, but the quest and his mining work before it had kept him strong and he did not even slip.

He found the company where he’d about expected, in the spot where they’d set up their sleeping areas with worn sheets from Lake-town. He was relieved to find Bombur and Bifur unharmed, so far as he could tell. The silence was stifling. His kin only greeted him with a smile and a nod, whereas the rest merely continued what they were doing.

Bofur sat down next to Nori and glanced around the company, noticing their king was missing. So he was in the treasury, then. Even as his heart sank, he turned to Nori with a grin and asked, “What’s happened since I’ve been gone, then?” He winced at the loudness of his voice in comparison to the silence.

“The king and Balin have been invited to strategise with the elf king, Bard and Gandalf.” Nori twiddled with his knife. “Thorn is sending Balin and Gloin and will stay here. I think they are leaving soon, actually. So, the hobbit did not come back with you, then?”

“No, we didn’ know if it would be safe or no’, so he stayed with Dwalin,” Bofur murmured. “I though’ he would’ve been banished.”

“Listen,” Nori said in an urgent voice. “Something happened while you were gone. Thorin, he’s-“

Before Nori could finish, a deep voice broke through. “Bofur,” Thorin said suddenly, and when he’d returned Bofur did not know. “I would speak with you.”

There was no question in his tone.

Thorin led the way to an empty room, where the company could not listen or watch. Bofur tugged on the flaps of his hat nervously. He could only hope this would not be retribution for helping Bilbo.

But when Thorin turned around to face him, his eyes were oddly clear: bright with bone-deep regret and self-loathing. Hope blossomed in Bofur’s gut, that perhaps the gold lust had released its hold, and his king was trying to face up to his actions.

“I have no right to ask,” Thorin said roughly, “but I must check. Is B- is our burglar recovered? Did a healer being him back to health?”

Perhaps Thorin did not deserve an answer, but Bofur believed in second chances and the sheer truth of the emotion pouring out of his king could not be denied. “No healer could help,” he answered evenly, watched as Thorin turned pale. “He was… unwell for hours ‘fore he came back to himself. But when I left, he seemed stable.” Bofur hummed to himself in thought. “The threat was too close to… his past, ye know? He worries about your health as well.”

Thorin’s shoulders hunched. “I do not deserve his concern,” he rasped. “I owe my apologies to everyone in this company, but especially to him, for what the gold sickness made of me. It was his pain, his fear of me, that broke me out of it in the end, and I’m grateful for that, but to think I allowed myself to grow like that…”

“I don’ think he truly thought you would kill him,” Bofur said quietly, noticing the flinch at his words, “and I don’ think you thought you would either. But he was afraid you would become like tha’ dwarf who hur’ him, and he saw it in that moment. And it broke him.”

Thorin shuddered. It was odd, Bofur thought, to see so much unhidden emotion from not only a dwarf he didn’t feel he knew well enough, but from his king.

The dwarf king set his jaw and took a step towards the miner. When he spoke, his voice was pitched low. “I have a task to ask of you. I cannot ask any of the company; they’re almost all of my kin and would refuse to do it. You are the only one I would trust this with, as you are both hardy enough for it and your loyalty would not stop you from doing what has to be done. I ask that if you ever see any sign the gold sickness is returning, you remove the threat. Do you understand?”

Bofur knew. The king was asking that he be killed before the sickness made him into a dwarf akin to Nuhji, the dwarf who’d caused so much pain and so willingly. Bofur gave a short nod.

“I will set it in writing, so that if it ever comes to pass, you can produce the document so that you will not be held accountable. But you must give me your word you will do it.” Thorin drew his gaze to meet with Bofur’s.

“You have my word,” Bofur said, and smiled.


	21. dawn

“How you feelin’?” Dwalin asked when he pushed into the tent with two bowls of weak stew. Bilbo rubbed at his eyes and yawned. It was the evening before the battle, Bilbo had heard when he’d left the tent briefly; the orcs would be marching upon them at first light tomorrow, according to the scouts.

“I’m fine, you need to stop worrying, you daft dwarf,” Bilbo grumbled, but accepted the food. Dwalin had been acting almost too much like Dori in his protectiveness. It was touching, but it grated on the nerves after a while. “Did you find suitable armour and weaponry from the men?”

“They allowed me two of their axes that had somehow survived the dragon and were in Dale’s armoury,” Dwalin explained. A dwarf of little words, Bilbo knew, but bring up weaponry or fighting, he could talk for days about his knowledge. “They are from the old kingdom of Erebor, on loan to Dale when the dragon came as I understand, so they are suitable for a dwarf. No armour, though, none that would fit me, but I’ll make do.”

Bilbo bit his lip in worry. He didn’t want Dwalin to be sent out to the battle in naught but his clothes and what little protection he was wearing when he went out to the front gate.

They’d left the mountain in such a hurry, all of Dwalin’s belongings were left behind, which meant if Dwalin fell tomorrow due to a lack of protection, it would be all Bilbo’s fault. The dwarf only had strange contraptions on his hands which looked as though they would protect them from most harm, as well as some type of armoury over his chest and neck. Bilbo did not know what any of it was called, but he reasoned that they were worn when speaking with Bard and Thranduil in case of flying arrows.

But there was nothing to protect his legs but his trousers, and no helmet to be worn either. The utter fear he felt at the thought of Dwalin being felled because of this was shocking; it grabbed him by the throat and did not let him go.

The other dwarves, he was also deathly afraid for them, but at least they would be adequately suited for a battle and with any choice of weapon from Erebor’s armoury. The dragon had not damaged the vast armoury, and even if he had, there was sure to be ornate weapons and other pieces tucked in the treasury.

“And what about armour for me?” Bilbo asked. He had no need for weaponry, as Sting had been strapped to his side when he’d left the mountain.

Dwalin narrowed his eyes. “I told you, you’re not goin’. Help out the healers if you’re so desperate to get involved. But you’re not fighting.”

Bilbo huffed and crossed his arms. “I am not a child, and I’m not utterly helpless either! I’m going out into the battle along with everyone else. I’ll not be left behind with the women and children.”

His own words made him pause. What of Ori? He had no doubt women could fight just as well as men, but if dwarven women were so rare, and with Ori so young… And that was without mentioning the effects of the garment Ori wore to keep her chest flattened. Bilbo had noticed, in the fights with trolls, goblins and orcs, and when they had to run for long stretches at a time, that Ori had become easily breathless, her lips sometimes tinged with blue. And later, he had seen the winces and flinches Ori had tried to hide when people nudged her ribs… They’d all assumed it was because of bruises, but Bilbo wondered if it was the events of the day that had caused the bruising or simply wearing such a garment.

“What?” Dwain asked, frowning. “What is it?”

Bilbo sighed in thought. He’d promised not to tell anyone about Ori. “I’m just worried about the rest of the company,” he murmured instead, and it was not a lie, “and what tomorrow will bring for them.”

Dwalin nodded. He understood.

\---

When the battle started, the sun had just been rising over the edge of the world, a striking red illuminating a day nobody present would forget.

Bilbo started amongst the men’s army. Before the sunrise, when the quiet of the before was almost too much to bear, he’d given both Dwalin and Gandalf the slip. Dwalin had left to join the warriors – he’d joined the men, but planned to fight his way back to the company – but not before warning Bilbo one last time to stay away from the battle. Bilbo had watched the back of the dwarf until he disappeared amongst the sea of men.

“Bilbo!” he’d heard not long after that, and he recognised the voice of Gandalf. He knew Gandalf would be as adamant as Dwalin about his not participating, so before Gandalf could make his way to his side, he slipped behind a tent and placed the ring on his finger.

Invisible, he could not hear the sounds except very dimly when the battle started. The orcs and wargs slammed into the men and the elves with a fury that stunned Bilbo, even in the darkened world he travelled in. As the elves released their arrows, and the men swung their swords, the rock wall barricading the mountain’s front gate exploded.

Even with the muted sound, the roar was deafening to Bilbo. He fought his way through the swarms of people to get to where the mountain gate had been opened. He wasn’t entirely sure what he would do, but he knew he could not leave his company to fight this battle alone.

 

\---

Where Nori had found the explosives, Bofur did not ask. Nor did he question the soundness of the plan of blowing up the rock wall. He thought it had something to do with providing a distraction and Dain’s armies, but admittedly he had not really listened. When he got out there, he knew it would come down to each swing of his mattock, every sword he blocked, every orc he cut down.

He glanced around the company in the moment before the explosion. Everyone down to little Ori was wearing a determined expression with weapons in hand. Even Bombur had given up his ladle for something more substantial.

Thorin stood nearest the gate, apart from Nori who was busy trying to light the fuse, his back straight, Orcrist in his hand. This, Bofur thought, was their king, not the dwarf of gold sickness who’d been present the previous days. But the dwarf who would stand with their company as they fought in a desperate war for their homeland.

\---

When they ran out on the battlefield, the orcs laughed.

Such a grand entrance for thirteen dwarves – no, twelve, Nori corrected himself – and the orcs were already breaking through the ranks of men and elves. It would be intimidating, perhaps, if it hadn’t been for Dain’s armies just marching over the hill behind the battle.

The orcs did not notice, fixated on the mountain’s opening as it were, until the horn had been blown. And by then, Dain and his armies were already charging through.

Nori turned his attention back to his own surroundings. Men and elves and orcs surrounded him on all sides. He saw Bofur and his hat a little ways to his right, smashing his mattock into a warg’s face – and the daft dwarf was still laughing, Nori noticed.

But Bofur could handle himself. Nori quickly found Ori, close enough that he could charge in and protect her. Dori was already there, of course, but Nori still felt a sharp fear in his chest for his little sister. He and Dori had tried to convince her to stay behind in the mountain, but she’d set her mouth and downright refused.

“Besides,” she reasoned, “if the orcs break through the ranks and somehow get into the mountain, I’d rather not be the only one left behind in here.” Neither of her brothers had been able to fault that logic.

They’d planned to fight their way to the elven camp, where she could join the healers, but as Nori looked around the battle, he realised it would not be possible. It was tightly packed, weapons on all sides, whether friend or foe it was hard to tell. He could see elves and men and dwarves and orcs and wargs, all falling with horrendous injuries, all screaming in pain.

He stabbed two orcs in their throats with the two daggers in his hand, but not before one of them had sliced off the hand of a Lake-town man beside him. The man howled in agony, but swung his sword against the next orc that came at him nonetheless.

Nori twirled his blades and gazed around again. He could no longer see Bofur and his laughing face. And he felt despair.


	22. battle

By the time Bilbo caught sight of some of the company, he was a mess of blood – some his own, some others, some black of orc. He stumbled as he saw Gloin and Oin fighting back to back but did not hesitate to slice Sting through the leg of one of the orcs trying to behead Gloin. 

He was glad to see they were mostly uninjured, and they were in a patch of battle where there were more allies than enemies. So, instead of remaining with them, he continued on.

The next he found were Dori and Ori, Dori desperately trying to keep himself between the orcs and his younger sister. He slipped off the ring and joined Dori in protecting Ori, who Bilbo could tell was running quickly out of breath. 

“What’s Ori doing fighting?” Bilbo shouted at Dori as he swung his sword inexpertly but effectively around him. Smaller and younger as she was, Bilbo was surprised to see her on the battlefield. He had also learnt over the quest that dwarves protected their womenfolk as fiercely as their jewels, and yet here she was, baring her teeth as she slammed her weapon into an orc's face.

Dori grimaced. “He’s too damn logical!” Bilbo blinked – proper Dori was swearing of all things. Though he supposed a battlefield would be the proper place to do it.

“I don’t need protection, I can fight well enough for myself,” Ori panted, while she took down two orcs in one swing with her mace. It appeared she’d inherited the same strength Dori had, as the strongest dwarf in the company.

Bilbo remained with them, taking a fair amount of cuts and bruises though Dori tried his best to protect him along with Ori, until a group of elves swung in. Surrounded by elves for the moment, Bilbo turned to Ori. “You need to take off that bloody undergarment you’re wearing!” he exclaimed, and gestured to his chest just in case he wasn’t clear enough. He could see Ori’s chest heaving, and with each breath a hacking cough joined it, though he could tell the dwarf was trying to stifle the coughing.

Just at that moment, Nori slid past the elves and orcs, slitting the throat of one as he passed. “Everything okay here?” he asked, his eyes surveying his siblings carefully to make sure they hadn’t been injured while he’d been gone.

“No!” Bilbo huffed as Ori coughed. “Ori isn’t going to survive this battle if she doesn’t take off the cage she’s wearing around her lungs!” Surrounded by so much noise, Bilbo didn’t bother using the pronouns needed to hide Ori’s true identity. If they listened to his logic, it soon wouldn’t matter. 

Two orcs broke through the elves and Dori quickly took them down. He turned back just as Nori was saying, “He’s right. You need to be able to breathe.”

“We can’t-“ Dori spluttered.

“We can deal with the consequences later,” Nori said, determination in his voice as he stared down his brother. “They may not even notice. But Ori won’t get through this without taking it off, just look at her.”

Ori protested weakly, “I can’t take it off in the middle of a battlefield.” She spoke in gasps, and that was enough to persuade Dori. 

“Dori, protect Ori,” Nori instructed. He wiped off one of his blades on his shirt. “Bilbo, protect my back.”

As Bilbo stood back to back with Nori, brandishing his sword as threateningly as he could, Nori tucked his blade up under Ori’s shirt and armour and carefully sliced open the fabric of the undergarment. The elves had seemingly caught on to what they were doing, and they made a protective circle around the group. It seemed to take an awful long time to all of them, with Nori trying to wriggle his hand up while keeping the blade away from skin, but eventually Ori let out a series of loud almost honking coughs and then drew in what seemed to be the first proper breath in far too long.

As the elves dispersed from their circle and the group rejoined the battle, Bilbo could see the improvement in Ori’s movements already, could see the steady rising of her chest with actual breath entering her lungs. Her face regained its colour and her lips lost their blue tinge. 

Bilbo was just about to move away to find the other members of their company when Nori grabbed his arm. “Have you seen Bofur?” the dwarf asked anxiously.

Bilbo shook his head, and Nori let him go with no response. 

\---

He did not see Bofur when he began to search out for the rest of the company, but he did see Dwalin roaring loudly and swinging his axes, taking out an incredible number of orcs and their wargs just as Bilbo was watching. Afraid Dwalin would march him straight back to the healers’ tents if he saw him, Bilbo slipped his ring on and continued searching amongst the heaving life of the battle.

Bifur he saw next, alone with his spear and sword, and Bilbo charged in without thinking, at least injuring numerous orcs who could not see him coming. He saw Bifur throw back his head and laugh when he noticed what was happening, remembering Bilbo’s magic ring from Thranduil’s dungeons. When the flow of orcs stemmed a little, Bifur yelled something in khuzdul, and pointed violently to his right. 

Bilbo did not know what it meant, but he followed the directions anyway. He trusted the dwarf would not lead him astray. 

But when he saw why Bifur had pointed him in this direction, his blood ran cold.

Thorin, Fili and Kili were facing off against Azog, the great pale orc Bilbo remembered from outside the Misty Mountains, and there were no allies around to help them. The orcs had closed ranks around their leader’s battle with the line of Durin and would not allow elf, man or dwarf to cut through.

They had not, however, accounted for one small invisible hobbit.

Bilbo found the most effective way to break through the orc wall was to crawl through their legs, using his sword to cut at them when they came too close for comfort. Mud caked around his hands and lower legs as he slid through, and swords came far too close to skewering him, but somehow he made it through and was kneeling before a scene that made him clutch his sword handle so tightly, he lost feeling in the ends of his fingers.

Thorin was battling against Azog fiercely, but his attention was divided, as he kept shoving Fili and Kili back behind him as they tried to enter the battle. Kili, accepting that he would not be able to fight Azog in close combat with his uncle around, stepped back and drew an arrow to his bow. He let one loose with elf-like accuracy but Azog merely batted it away with his hooked hand. 

As he went to draw another arrow, an orc stepped out from behind him and slammed the butt of his weapon into his skull. Kili’s eyes rolled back into his head and his body slumped down into the mud. 

Azog snarled something at the orc in his ugly language, but Bilbo only noticed Fili’s anguished cry and the paling of Thorin’s face. As Fili raced back to his brother’s side, Thorin continued the battle with Azog, but he was even more distracted now without knowing whether his nephew lay dead behind him.

Bilbo pushed himself up from where he knelt, horror curdling in his gut. Not only for Kili, but for Thorin: he was not an expert swordsman, of course, but even he could see that Thorin was fighting recklessly, taking more hits than he should, risking injury with many of his moves when he was smart enough to know safer ones.

Bilbo clutched Sting, and before he could even pause to think about it, he charged at Azog, swinging his sword at the exposed skin he could reach, opening gaping wounds around his thighs. Azog howled and stumbled back but charged forward at Thorin with new vigour.

“What magic is this, that you strike without a blade?” the orc snarled in broken common, slamming his sword down with a deafening clash against Thorin’s.

Thorin glanced around the orc for any sign, anything… He knew what it meant, that Bilbo was here in one of the most dangerous sections of the battle, and he found his chest clenched with the thought. 

He could not afford to let his guard down, thinking of the hobbit like this. The only way he could protect Bilbo now was by disposing of Azog as quickly as possible. He gritted his teeth and swallowed down the pain of his wounds, somehow bringing forth new energy from his weary body.

He watched, as a new wound opened itself just above Azog’s knee, as the orc swatted down at the invisible nuisance, leaving his chest wide open. The arrogant orc had not worn any armour and Thorin felt his blade slide through flesh like butter.

The surprise and pain that flitted across Azog’s face was almost human for a moment, before his expression twisted back into anger. Thorin went to tug his sword from the chest, but Azog had grabbed the blade and held it in. The splitsecond of unguarded surprise gave the orc enough time to plunge his own sword into the dwarf. Hazy in his pain, he’d been aiming for the Oakenshield’s chest, but had instead ended in his stomach.

A slow death then, Azog mused as his world faded. Slow bleeding out for the dwarf king.

Thorin stumbled backwards away from the falling orc body, his hands clutched over his open wound. As Azog had fallen, he’d pulled the sword out, causing Thorin’s world to whiten with sheer agony. Now, he could feel nothing at all, not even the warmth of the blood as it spilled over his hands.

He collapsed to his knees, only dimly recognising the scream of his name. He knew that voice from somewhere, it reminded him of golden honey for some reason, and he felt that if he could simply blink away the blurriness he could remember…

Then the face hovered above him. How he came to be lying down, he did not remember, nor did he really care. He gazed up at the hobbit, whose hair was matted with blood and whose eyes were shining with tears, but who was exquisitely beautiful nonetheless.

“Bilbo…” he breathed, as the fuzzy black spots widened and took him under.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> eheh
> 
> i feel i should be apologising? oops.
> 
> happy new year, my friends.
> 
>  
> 
> also. eeeek i just realised! ive hit over a thousand kudos! you guys are amazing, thank you!


	23. aftershocks

A sob tore from Bilbo’s throat as he saw Thorin’s eyes slip closed. “No, stay with me, Thorin, stay awake,” he cried, pressing his hands tight against his wound. The moment the dwarf had breathed his name, his heart had cleaved in two. “Please, please, Thorin,” he sobbed, laying his head down on his chest. “Please, you can’t die on me, you can’t do that to me.”

“Bilbo,” he heard dimly, from behind him, and he lifted his head. Fili had his hand on the hobbit’s shoulder, his face drawn in lines that Bilbo could’ve sworn hadn’t been there before the battle. “We need to…”

He found it difficult to hear him, as his blood was rushing too fast in his ears, but he could see Beorn in his terrifying bear shape with Kili’s limp body draped over his back and got the gist. “I have to go with him,” Bilbo said numbly, watching as Fili and a couple of other dwarves helped carefully manoeuvre Thorin onto Beorn. 

“We can’t, Bilbo,” Fili said softly, holding him back gently as his arms stretched out to Beorn’s form speeding away. “We’d just get in the way.” 

Bilbo choked back a sob as he turned into Fili’s arms and buried his face against the dwarf’s chest, sticky with blood. In his state of mind, he probably shouldn’t be within five feet of another dwarf, but somehow, he found himself clutching closer. 

Around him, he could hear the screams of the last orcs being cut down, the occasional yelp of man, dwarf or elf among them. Bilbo tangled his fingers into Fili’s tunic and closed his eyes. “He’s not dead,” he murmured insistently. “He’s not, he’s not dead. He’s not allowed to be dead.”

Fili ran his hand up and down Bilbo’s back in a way that he hoped was comforting. He didn’t say anything, but as he stared off towards where Beorn had run towards, the image of his little brother crumpled on the ground stark clear in his head, he found himself thinking the same thing.

\---

When Fili and Bilbo made it to the healing tents – where everybody who’d survived the battle were going – they were given the once-over, declared non-serious by the healers, and pointed to the tents that housed the non-serious portion of wounded warriors. When they asked about Kili and Thorin, the elves had shaken their heads, said they did not know, there were so many deathly wounded.

They wandered among the minorly injured, searching for more of their company. “If Oin’s okay, he’ll be with the healers,” Fili murmured. Bilbo did not reply. In fact, the hobbit hadn’t said a thing since his breakdown on the battlefield. When Fili looked down at him, he could see Bilbo staring blankly ahead, following Fili like a lost child.

Rather than them finding someone else, Gloin came to them. His bushy red hair was matted with crusted blood and he sported a black eye and a swollen lip. Whether he was injured elsewhere, he did not show; he beamed widely at the two of them, though it did not reach his eyes, and said, “Bilbo, you’re okay! And you too, my prince. I’m so glad to see you both. I cannot find anyone of the company, just dwarves from the Iron Hills…”

“We haven’t found anyone else either,” Fili responded, frowning lightly. “Perhaps they are all with the healers.”

Not anyone wanted to consider that thought, that they had all been injured so severely. 

\---

Nori wandered the battleground, his sharp eyes roving over the corpses at his feet. Once he’d seen Dori to the healers, he’d left him in the care of the elves and Ori and joined the group of men who’d volunteered to search the field for any survivors who could not get up. They’d all fanned out, bent low to inspect each body to make sure they weren’t moving or breathing, sometimes calling lowly in case anyone could call for help. 

He winced as he continued forward, accidentally slipping on a particularly large puddle of blood. He was perhaps more injured than he’d let on to Ori, mainly because he’d removed some of his armour throughout the battle, as it was heavy and slowed him down. His speed was one of his advantages in fighting, as well as his quietness but that attribute had been irrelevant in the roar of battle. 

An orc body at his feet drew his attention by its twitching, though its eyes did not open. Nori flicked out his knife and stabbed it quickly through the neck, fast and emotionless. Whether it was actually alive or merely a corpse still settling into its death, he did not know, but it was better to be safe.

He continued on. At one point, he heard a man from the search party shout and turned his head to see him waving. Before Nori could walk over, two other men who were closer had already joined him. Between the two, they lifted an elf as gently as they could and started back towards the healing tents. 

Nori turned his gaze back to the ground. In his searching, he had not found a single survivor; instead he’d seen in sorrow too many men, elves and dwarves laid side by side with the orcs they’d given their life to defend against. To his relief, at least, he’d not seen anyone he’d yet recognised.

It was in the quiet between breaths that he heard it, a very low keening. Nori cocked his head, holding his breath to catch where it was coming from. Learned in knowing where sounds had come from – after all, one must always need to know which direction the guard was coming from when they didn’t want to go to jail that day – he found the man within moments. 

No, not a man, Nori discovered when he knelt down beside him. He was but a boy, close to coming of age but not quite there; he was too young to grow even more than a dusting of facial hair and his cheeks still held a little baby fat. 

Nori knelt in orc filth and blood, brushed back the boy’s hair damp with sweat and who knows what else. “What’s your name, lad?” he asked. The boy was conscious and seemed to be able to understand him; his eyes desperately locked onto Nori’s.

“Ilish,” he answered, his voice whiper-thin.

“Okay, Ilish,” Nori said softly, continuing to stroke his hair back as it appeared to calm the boy. “I need you to stay calm, okay? Help is on its way. You’re going to be perfectly fine, just got a bit banged up in the fight, but the healers will patch you right up.”

Before Nori had knelt down, he’d surveyed the boy’s body. His middle had been cleaved open, and Nori had glimpsed far too much of the boy’s insides than he was entirely comfortable with. He’d not bothered to call over any of the men to transport him to the healers; it would only unnecessarily pain the boy when he’d not live longer than another few minutes.

But the light in the boy’s eyes, the innocence that had somehow not been stamped out by the battle, cut straight to the bone. So he lied.

“I want my mama,” the boy murmured, so low Nori almost did not catch it.

“She’ll be here soon,” Nori promised. “I’m just a little quicker than everyone, so I got here first. But she’s coming for you, and she’s very proud of her son for fighting so bravely.”

The boy smiled, a fleeting tired thing. The pain was ebbing from his expression, which meant death would not be far behind. “How soon will she be here?” he asked slowly, as though he wasn’t quite sure whether he was using the right words.

“Very soon,” Nori said, combing through the boy’s hair with gentle fingers as the light in his eyes slowly faded. “She wouldn’t stay behind, she wanted to see you so much…”

Nori was going to continue talking, but the boy could not hear him anymore.

\---

When Bilbo found Dwalin, the hardened warrior was huddled as small as his large body – for a dwarf, in any case – could be, his bald head buried in his hands. He bled profusely from multiple wounds, none that were currently serious but could become so if he didn’t stop batting away the small amount of healers who were charged with helping the minorly injured.

Bilbo slumped beside him. Fili had left soon after Dain had arrived, reminding the crown prince that with Thorin out of action, he was the leader of Erebor. 

“I could no’ get to him,” Dwalin rasped to the hobbit. When he peered over to Bilbo through his roughened, bloody hands, his eyes were glassy with unshed tears. “There were so many orcs, and I could not get through to him and the boys, when I am supposed to be their protector. If he dies, it will be because I failed.”

Bilbo took one of the warrior’s hands in his own. For a moment, it felt as though Dwalin might crush his small bones, but then the dwarf remembered the gentleness of the creature beside him, and he loosened his grip. 

“You did all you could do, when you were fighting from the wrong side,” Bilbo said gently. He pushed his heartbreak and fear to the back of his mind, and focused on what he could do: help heal someone’s heart, or at least start the process. “Thorin…if he dies, it will be no one’s fault but Azog’s. You did not plunge the blade through his chest –“ And Bilbo continued even as Dwalin shuddered – “that was all Azog. You fought your hardest to protect your king, and for that, you have not failed.”

Dwalin slumped towards Bilbo as though his spine had broken. With a grunt – the dwarf was astoundingly heavy – Bilbo managed to manoeuvre their positioning so that Dwalin was curled almost in his lap. He pretended not to notice the wetness soaking into his pants and instead stroked what remained of his hair, making soft soothing sounds only the dwarf could hear.

And as the panic Bilbo was used to feeling when a dwarf came near did not arrive, he finally felt himself beginning to accept his trust.


	24. gathering

When Nori found Bofur’s hat, it was enough to stop him in his tracks. He had discovered only two survivors so far, and he’d been wandering the blood-soaked battlefields for two hours now. He stepped cautiously though the mangled orc bodies, which seemed thicker in this part of the field. Kneeling down, he plucked the hat from the ground. Its flaps were droopy, the fur thick with blood and sweat. 

Nori glanced around the field, searching for a familiar face, but he could not see Bofur anywhere near where his hat had fallen. He did, however, spot Bofur’s mattock a few feet to his right. 

Heavy dread settled in his gut. Bofur never went anywhere without his hat; even when they were fighting against the goblin horde in the Misty Mountains, Nori had seen Bofur risk his back to snatch his hat from the ground. 

Even as Nori clutched the hat to his chest and continued searching among the bodies, he prepared himself to see the dwarf’s body on the ground, probably smiling even in death. 

\---

The company slowly found each other among the survivors.

Dwalin had slipped into a deep sleep not long after curling in Bilbo’s lap, his ragged snores muffled against the hobbit’s leg. As they sat there, Gloin rejoined them. “I have found my brother, among the healers,” he rumbled, as he settled beside Bilbo. “Not as one of the wounded, thank Mahal, but assisting the elves, much to his disgust.”

“Have you seen anyone else?” Bilbo asked quietly.

“Not yet,” Gloin replied, his boisterous manner oddly subdued. “Bilbo…I’ve been meaning to talk to you, of before the battle. I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“Of course I am,” Bilbo huffed. “Simply worried about all of you.”

“You know I mean about what Thorin did to you.”

Bilbo stilled. He did not want to think of Thorin with his eyes glazed over with greed and madness, his blade at Bilbo’s throat. “I don’t know,” Bilbo whispered. “I know it wasn’t him. But if the sickness is still there, if he…if he survives, I don’t know if I could be around him anymore.”

“When you left…” Gloin hesitated, licked his lips. “When Bofur took you from the mountain, something in the king broke. We got him back inside and he collapsed to the ground, his hands in fists, and sobbed like a man who had lost everything. I think the sickness has broken, but I cannot be sure it won’t return. I just want you to know, in all my time knowing Thorin, he has never broken down like this. Not when the dragon came, not when his mother burned, not when his brother and grandfather died in battle nor when his father fell to madness.”

Bilbo swallowed. He had not known that Thorin had suffered such loss in his life. Thinking about the pain the dwarf had gone through made tears prick at his eyes. “Why would he break down over something so small?” Bilbo asked timidly.

“Small? Master Bilbo, he would never consider threatening a company member at swordpoint as something small, I assure you.”

Bilbo stared down at Dwalin’s limp form and tried to speak past the lump in his throat. Even in all their travelling, the challenges they faced, Bilbo had not truly felt like a part of the company until then, in that moment after the battle.

“Bilbo! Dwalin! Gloin!” Bombur careened over to them, his belly leading the way, as unapologetic tears flooded down his face. “You’re all okay, I’m so glad…”

Bombur was accompanied by Bifur. They were both ragged and weary, cuts and bruises aching all over their bodies. And Bifur had alarming amount of blood over one half of his face.

“Bifur, your axe…” Bilbo said in amazement. 

Bifur bared his teeth in a feral smile and let out a stream of khuzdul. Where the axe blade had been buried in his head was now scarring and a small wound. Though the axe had clearly been removed somehow, the dwarf was still affected by the severe head wound. Bilbo wondered if he would ever recover from it, if he would ever learn common speech again.

“Dori is with the healers,” Bombur said, his mouth downturned. “They say he got hurt protecting…Ori…” Bombur’s frown deepened. “I don’t know if you’ve seen Ori since the beginning of the battle.”

Gloin shook his head. “I lost track of the company during the battle. I think we all got separated into small groups.”

“It turns out that Ori has been a dwarrowdam this whole time,” Bombur said quietly with an urgent worry to his voice. “Do you think the king knows of this?”

Gloin’s face blanched. “We haven’t been protecting her nearly enough! I don’t think any of us knew of it except her brothers.”

“Dwarves have such an odd reaction to gender,” Bilbo mused. “If the Shire was attacked, both women and men would protect it to the best of their ability.”

Gloin nodded. “Of course, women can fight just as fiercely as men. But we dwarrows have so few dwarrowdams, you see, so if they fought alongside their brothers, it would be a danger to our whole race. We don’t force our women into having children, if they do not wish to, and even if they want, our women only have few children.”

“If a woman has declared she does not wish for children, or cannot physically have them, then the king permits her to fight or become a guard or take on any other dangerous tasks men do,” Bombur explained. “But for those who are too young to have made this decision, like Ori who has only just reached hi-her majority, or those who do want to, they are protected as much as we protect our children. These rules also go for those who are not women but have the ability to choose to carry children.”

“Not many people in the Shire are open about…having a different gender to what they got when they were born,” Bilbo murmured. “Are dwarves different this way?”

“It’s not uncommon,” Gloin answered. “It’s something that’s accepted in dwarven culture, unlike among men, I’ve heard.”

Bilbo hummed in his throat in response, then startled as he was reminded of their original conversation. “Do you know how Dori is? Or Ori?”

Bombur, normally so cheerful, grimaced. “Ori is okay, a little weak from blood loss, I think. But they say Dori has lost an eye.”

Bilbo felt himself pale. He thought of Dori, his impeccably groomed appearance even in the worst situations, and tried to imagine his face marred by scarring and only one eye.

“But he’ll survive that, right?” the hobbit asked.

“The elves are very optimistic.”

Bilbo sighed in relief. Bombur shuffled in his seat. “I haven’t seen Bofur though,” he murmured, and Bifur growled. Bilbo’s heart clenched; he had so much worry in his blood, it made him shiver.

\---

“Oh, Mahal, there ye’re!”

When Nori returned to the healers’ tents with his third survivor, a man supporting the wounded dwarf’s shoulders while he supported his hips, he was accosted from behind. The dwarf in their arms appeared to have lost both his legs, though how that had happened, Nori had no idea. He managed to keep his grip steady despite the heavy body that had launched at his back until the elves relieved him.

As soon as he’d heard the shout, the knot in Nori’s stomach had loosened. He would know that accent anywhere. He turned to find Bofur clutching at him, the dwarf’s face split with his laughter.

“You found my hat an’ everything!” Bofur said, grinning. He snatched the hat off Nori’s head, where he’d put it when he needed his hands, and shoved it on his own, the flaps hanging askew.

“I’m glad you’re okay,” Nori said quietly.

“Aw, were you worried?” Bofur teased. “I’m perfectly fine.” Yet when they began to walk, he stumbled, automatically clutching Nori’s sleeve to stay upright.

“Are you sure you’re fine?” Nori frowned.

“Well, uh, I did get knocked ou’ fer a bit,” Bofur admitted, “an’ I think I’m still dizzy. I’s why I survived, though…An orc corpse fell on top o’ me when I was down, and no one noticed me underneath, which was good ‘cause we were overrun with orcs by then. Got’a little trampled, but nothin’ a dwarf can’t survive, ye know? When I woke, the battle was over…”

Bofur continued to rattle on, about how much the orc stank and how upset he was when he realised his hat was missing and how he had to walk himself back to camp unlike the others who were carried. He did not talk about the companions that fell around him. He did not talk about their dead unseeing eyes when he crawled out from stiffening orc filth. He did not mention how he vomited until his throat bled before he could even stand. 

At that current moment, he was having trouble standing, but that was a problem for another time. After the others in the battle had been treated, the nobles and royalty and proper soldiers, he would perhaps find a healer to check over his wounds. For the moment, he could manage.

“Oh Mahal, it’s Bombur,” Bofur cried, mid-rant. He could see the large round belly and red hair from a mile away. In his relief, he grabbed Nori’s hand without thinking and launched themselves forwards to the group including Bombur. Nori’s hands flicked immediately, twirling out a knife to settle against Bofur’s wrist.

It was an automatic reaction, to take a knife to those who touched him. Over the course of the journey, he’d trained himself from this reaction, but the battle had ruffled it up from the depths of his mind.

Bofur frowned, eyes flicking between the knife at his wrist and Nori’s face, filled with tension. “Sorry,” Nori muttered, and the knife was gone in a second. Bofur let go of his hand, his eyebrows raised like he was a little surprised that he’d even grasped his friend’s hand at all.

He cocked his head to the side with a strange smile on his face. “Honestly, where do you even hide all your knives?” he asked, tugging on the flap of his hat. Without waiting for an answer, he pranced off to the group, leaving Nori behind, unsure if he was welcome to follow or not. “Come on,” Bofur called over his shoulder, and only then did Nori’s feet start forward.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i am so sorry for the long wait! im afraid life has been crazy lately. uni has started and things have been happening.


	25. discovery

The elf’s face was drawn and serious when he approached the minorly injured of the company. Every dwarf looked up, simultaneously wary and hopeful; even Dwalin had risen from his sleep, and was staring at the elf with the rest.

“The King Under the Mountain asks for you,” the elf said evenly, nodding his head towards Bilbo.

Relief flooded through the hobbit at these words. “He’s okay?” he asked, springing to his feet.

The elf, however, responded with an unreadable expression, “We would not say that. In fact, we dare not hope he’ll survive his wounds. They are grievous and his heart is heavy. If he were human, he would have long past.” The elf inclined his head. “We do not know how much longer he is for this world.”

Dwalin jumped up from where he sat, face pale. The elf blinked, a small show of surprise on his blank face, and then said, “The King also asked for you, Master Dwalin, if indeed your likeness means you are that dwarf.”

Dwalin nodded. Bilbo could see how the elf had missed the dwarf beforehand; when looking for a dwarf who looked like Dwalin, they expected him to be the larger and more noticeable of the group. However, Dwalin had been on the ground for most of the conversation, staring at the elf with a vulnerability that cut his years until he seemed but a dwarfling. 

Bilbo clenched his fists as he followed the elf, winding through the crowds, picking up soft cries and often wails. He was torn into two fears: the fear of Thorin dying, the knowledge that he was so fatally wounded scraped through his heart like a blunt blade. But he also feared facing the dwarf; worried that when he looked upon his face without the rush of battle in his veins, he would freeze, would see Nuhji’s eyes looking out at him. Even knowing there had been no sickness in him in the battle, he was terrified that the dwarf king would have caught the illness yet again. Perhaps he was, even now bloodied, battle weary and supposedly dying – Bilbo’s heart clenched at the word – he was still demanding the Arkenstone be returned to him.

Dwalin beside him was continuously clenching and unclenching his hands. “I can’t believe I fell asleep,” he muttered. “I need to find Balin. And Ori. By Mahal, if they are not okay…” Dwalin trailed off in a growl. His skin was very pale and some of his wounds were bleeding sluggishly. 

Bilbo did not know what to say in response.

The elf came to a stop outside a specific tent. “Wait here,” he murmured, and went inside for only a moment. Bilbo and Dwain exchanged a look, and then the hobbit startled as the tent’s opening was flung aside. “Master Dwalin,” the elf said shortly, “King Thorin wishes to see you now.”

Bilbo wrung his hands in front of him as Dwalin and the elf disappeared into the tent. Low murmuring drifted out, though Bilbo did not try to make out the words. It wasn’t his business, after all. As he glanced around him, shifting on his feet, he caught sight of some familiar braiding, but he blinked and the dwarf was gone. It might have actually been a very short man, Bilbo mused. He couldn’t quite place what was familiar about the person. Perhaps he had seen him in Lake-town. 

By the time Dwalin exited the tent, he had completely forgotten about the glimpse of this person, and was instead stressing over whether Thorin was going to demand his feet hair as punishment for betraying him. An irrational fear, of course, since he couldn’t grow any anymore, but the very thought of it made a shiver run down his spine.

Dwalin’s face was grim as he nodded to Bilbo then stalked away. The elf did not come out to collect the hobbit, but Bilbo only allowed himself to wait just a few moments. He took a deep breath into his lungs, wincing as his ribcage expanded and made his bruises stretch painfully. And then he pulled back the tent flap and went inside.

\---

Dwalin stomped from the tent, anger and bitterness swollen in his veins. To see his king brought so low…he hated to think of it. He scratched at his knuckles, feeling the scabbed skin. His thoughts were, in fact, so distracted, that he smacked straight into a smaller being than him.

A dwarf, of course, he identified dimly, grabbing their shoulders and straightening them easily. He blinked as he looked down, recognising the reddish hair, whose colour he couldn’t quite name, in braids he often imagined running his hands against.

A ruddy stain rose in his cheeks as Dwalin quickly stood back. They had been standing far too close than was appropriate. “Ori,” he grunted, and nodded his head in greeting. It wasn’t often that he felt flustered, but running into Ori after having his emotions turned inside out by his meeting with Thorin…Dwalin sighed and focused on his companion. “You’re hurt!” he exclaimed, involuntarily reaching out to touch Ori’s cheek. A nasty gash split the skin from his cheekbone to his chin, cutting through his lips. It had been cleaned and stitched, but it contrasted harshly against the gentle, and so very young face of the dwarf.

“Ah, it’s not so bad,” Ori replied uncomfortably, his arms tucked tight around his chest. “I’m glad to see you’re alive, Master Dwalin. Though you should find yourself a healer.”

Dwalin grumbled under his breath, then answered properly. “I’ll stitch my wounds myself when I find Oin. I don’t want to bother the healers, and I know Oin carries spare supplies on his person at all times.” 

Ori hummed lightly, shifting from side to side. His arms were still awkwardly wrapped around himself. “Are you all right, lad?” Dwalin asked finally. “Are you hurt around you chest? Let me find you another healer…”

“Oh, uh, no, thank you, Master Dwalin!” Ori squawked. He reached out a hand to grab Dwalin’s arm as he’d already turned away, opening his mouth to call for a healer. The grip around Dwalin’s am was surprisingly strong, and it was perhaps only that that made him listen, since he wasn’t usually very good at hearing people when he was focused on a different task. 

Bruises would bloom there by tomorrow, Dwalin thought with small amusement. He glanced back at the scribe, who was still holding onto Dwalin’s arm. 

The warrior stared at Ori in shock. His cheeks gradually grew redder until they blazed with heat. “Uh…” Dwalin said intelligently. “You, um…” He made a rather vulgar gesture at his own chest before realising it and dropping his hands

Ori had long since removed any armour that hadn’t been rent from her body in the battle, so in removing an arm from her torso, her bust had become apparent. Her mother’s genes had meant she was quite ample in the chest region and any clothes she wore without her binder seemed to emphasise her femininity, no matter how baggy or masculine. As Dwalin continued to stare, body rigid, at her chest, she felt her ears heating up and a tingling in her fingertips.

“Mister Dwalin,” she exclaimed. Honestly, when she’d run into Bombur and Bifur, they hadn’t reacted anything like this. They’d merely moaned about lack of protection or the like. And while she knew the noble section of the company would find it harder to accept that a dwarrowdam had travelled with them through the quest, as they were always so strict about following the law, Dwalin was just being ridiculous. “My eyes are on my face, and I’ll thank you to remember it!”

Dwalin snapped his eyes to her face, somehow becoming even redder than before. “You’re a lass,” he stated angrily, though there was question in his eyes. “And your brothers, they are too? We noticed your family bathed alone, but did not think on it…”

“Of course not,” she huffed. Nori had in fact been born with the same parts she had but was as much a male dwarf as Dori was. Long before the quest, Nori had gone travelling for many years, and had come back with a sharp grin and two even scars across his flat chest, and nobody since had questioned his right to be a man. It was his old binder she carried on this quest, now that it was useless to the dwarf, since their family could not afford a new one. Perhaps Dori could have made a new one, but there was no denying the quality of fabric of Nori’s old one; it had probably been stolen, but neither Nori nor Dori confirmed these suspicions.

The red on Dwalin’s face, thankfully, paled to a pink. “Well, good,” he blustered. His anger had drained as quickly as it had come, and now he felt unbalanced. “You should have told us, lass…”

Ori arched an eyebrow. “And then what?” she asked. “All of you would have just distracted yourselves trying to protect me when you needed to protect your own back on this quest. And everyone would be so angry with me, and my brothers. Who knows what Thorin would have done, particularly if I said something in the mountain.”

Dwalin sighed and rubbed his eyes wearily. It did not matter much to his affections that Ori was a lass. If anything, it suited her better, now that everyone knew, gave her a confidence that hadn’t been there before. She stood taller, feet wide, defiance in the set of her lips. If anything, it increased his attraction, he realised, as he swept his eyes over her and swallowed deeply. 

He cleared his throat and averted his eyes. Now was not the time for thoughts like this. He needed to find his brother; if he was alive, Balin would be with Fili, assisting the crown prince as he filled in Thorin’s place. Dwalin muttered something to Ori under his breath, that sounded akin to a goodbye, and brushed past.

He needed to be careful about showing his regard to the young scribe. She deserved someone her own age, who would not die when she still had many years left to live and leave her alone for so long until she entered Mahal’s halls. Dwalin would be satisfied if he lived the rest of his life as her friend, protecting her from afar, and allowing the scribe to choose a worthy spouse who could promise her as many years as she could promise them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's been so long. i lost a lot of my work because i can't afford a better laptop than the one i have, which is not so bad really it just has a lot of bugs, and that killed my motivation i suppose. but then FaithStClaire commented to say they've read this story four times and it brought me back...so this chapter is for your kind comment? And also for anyone else who has commented recently when i've been gone so long.


	26. forgiveness?

When Bilbo entered the tent, he swallowed deeply. Thorin was laid out on a cot; his armour and clothes had been stripped away despite the cool weather and a blanket laid across his legs and hips for modesty. Bandages wrapped tight around his chest and stomach, a small blood spot already blooming through. It was not growing, so Bilbo did not alert the healer, who was fussing over a wound on Thorin’s forehead.

“Leave me be,” he muttered to the elf, waving away his hands, but not unkindly. The elf stepped away, nodded at Bilbo and exited the tent.

Now alone, Bilbo cautiously moved closer to Thorin, wishing desperately for his dark cloak to pull around himself. It had been left in the mountain, with most of his other belongings apart from his sword by his side and the few bits and bobs in his pockets. He felt vulnerable without it, skin exposed and face too open for his liking.

“Bil- Master Baggins,” Thorin greeted softly. Bilbo nodded shortly, looking studiously at his hands. 

The awkwardness felt almost palpable in the air. “I –“ Thorin started, then sighed and drew in a breath. “I have no right to ask for your forgiveness. But I must apologise for my…behaviour at the gate. I was not in the right mind, Gandalf tells me it was dragon sickness, that the gold in my mountain infects your mind with madness and greed. That is no excuse, of course.” Thorin paused, closed his eyes and gathered his thoughts. It was difficult to think clearly, with the pain fuzzing his head. “My actions were inexcusable. I am sorry, Master Baggins. You may request anything from me as compensation, apart from my crown which remains in the line of Durin, and if that is not enough, you may have my life as I attempted for yours, though I fear I do not have much of it left.”

Bilbo spluttered. “B-but I am the one who betrayed you, and the company! I stole the King’s Jewel and handed it over to the armies lying in front of your mountain. I promise I did it only for your safety, but nonetheless it’s a betrayal. You had every right to hold a sword to my throat.” Bilbo gulped. He wasn’t sure he meant the last sentence with every fibre of his being; after all, a hobbit’s punishment, even for such a betrayal or the equivalent, would never come close taking another’s life. Though Bilbo highly suspected that even in his haze of madness Thorin could not have killed a member of the company. 

“You are a hobbit,” Thorin reminded him gently. “You did not deserve a dwarf’s punishment. Especially without a proper trial, in any case. And with your intentions as they were, and I sick as I was, you would have been declared innocent without any trouble at all. You were dealt with unfairly by me, and I owe you any compensation you ask, so please, name the price of your forgiveness."

Bilbo rubbed a hand over his face. He felt exhausted, weary done to the bone, and for the first time in long while he wished for his armchair by the fire in Bag End. The hobbit knelt down beside Thorin’s cot and finally met the king’s eyes. With relief, he saw they were clear as a summer’s sky in the Shire, not even a hint of the glaze of dragon sickness.

“I would leave this world with your forgiveness if you could find it in yourself, Master Hobbit,” Thorin murmured. “But it would be enough for me if you could accept my apology as sincere before I pass to the Halls of my ancestors.”

Bilbo grasped Thorin’s hand between his own, an icy fear clutching his heart as he realised Thorin was giving up. “Don’t you dare, you thick dwarf,” Bilbo hissed, “you will never get my forgiveness if you die on me just after having won your mountain! You’re a dwarf, you’re hardy enough to survive these wounds if you fight, and you know it. Your sister-sons need you, your kingdom needs you.” Bilbo inhaled deeply before locking eyes with the shocked king. “I need you.”

“Bilbo…” Thorin sighed. “I am sorry, Master Burglar, I have not the right to speak your name. How am I meant to survive when I know Erebor will be given to me and I might lose myself again? It is far kinder to allow my wounds to take me where they will and leave my throne to my sister-sons, who are stronger in heart and mind than I have ever been.”

“Whether you accept the throne or not, you can’t just throw away your life like this, Thorin!” Bilbo exclaimed. “Fili is not ready to take on the throne, he’s only just become a mature dwarrow on the course of this quest. To die now would not be kind, it would be cruel and weak and selfish. And you, Thorin, are of all things not weak.”

Thorin closed his eyes for a brief moment and when he opened them again, they shone brightly. “I will try, then, but I cannot promise I’ll survive these wounds, Master Burglar. But please, if I survive, will you allow me the time to work for your forgiveness? I don’t yet know what I can do that will make up for my deeds at the gate, but I will try until I’m an old dwarf, if you’ll let me.”

“You were not yourself, Thorin,” Bilbo whispered, gently squeezing his hand. “I know that. It was the madness that made you…” Bilbo paused and gulped back any shiver of fear, of trying to hide from the memory. “That made you hold the knife to my throat.” He closed his eyes and sighed. “That being said, if you ever succumb to it, then I am sorry but I will sever any friendship I had with you.”

“I promise I’ll try my best not to get sick again,” Thorin murmured. He felt so tired, the pain of his wounds flaring up as whatever was in the drink the elves gave him wore off. “And if I do, I’ve already made sure that I will not live to see my madness hurt anyone again…least of you, Bilbo…”

Thorin began to snore.

Bilbo leaned his hand against Thorin’s arm and breathed in deeply. He felt like his organs had been wrung out and knotted up and untied yet again. “You daft dwarf,” he muttered. “And you daft hobbit. Why must your heart beat alongside his?”

His eyes began to run, small weary tears dabbing at the edges. His love for this dwarf, it was foolish and painful and above all things ridiculous. Soon enough, he would return to the Shire, to his echoing home where the hobbits stared and he would once again live a shamed life, and Thorin would recover from his wounds and take up his crown and, if the Maker of dwarves were not cruel, he would not fall to the gold sickness again. 

Maybe we’ll write letters to each other, Bilbo thought idly. The snores, though often interrupted by a sharp gasp or inhale when they tugged on the dwarf’s wounds, reverberated through the hobbit and smoothed out his anxiety. And he found himself drifting away.

\---

The days passed quickly.

The wounded were moved into the mountain with as much haste and the least motion in order to keep from paining them too much. The winter was growing rapidly colder, and it would not be beneficial to anyone’s health if they were made to recover in tents outside as the snow fell. Balin and Fili discovered large numbers of halls and quarters, belonging to the working class of dwarves, Balin explained, which did not have any riches and so had been left entirely alone by the dragon. Those who were uninjured cleaned the surface and dusted off the bedding, and this was where the wounded were carried to.

Fili, in his place as ruler as Thorin lay abed, extended the welcome to all elves and men who had fought alongside the dwarves. The healers among the elves accepted, though they refused any quarters, saying they had little need for sleep if they had food and drink and would stay by the side of the wounded. Those among the men who were not wounded declined the offer, though they asked that their wives and children be allowed there in their stay. They went to Dale with supplies of warm clothes and blankets, and began the long work of cleaning the city so that it may be rebuilt, and they slept in sheltered corners where the dragonfire had not reached. 

Thranduil returned to Mirkwood with his troops, taking his dead and wounded and a select number of healers to be cared for in their own kingdom. Only the very severely hurt did he leave behind in Erebor. Not long after he returned to his kingdom, elves with stores of food and drink arrived on Erebor’s doorstep. With them was Thranduil’s son, Legolas, who wished to negotiate an alliance. Fili bid him to return when Thorin was healthy enough to take over, but handed over the white gems Thranduil desired as payment for the supplies.

“Fili, you know you gave him far more than he deserved for what he sent us,” Balin reproved when they were in private.

Fili sighed. Dark circles had formed under his eyes and his face was pale. “I know, Balin. But he fought by our side in defence of Erebor and we’ve given him nothing in return for that so far. If Thorin has a problem with it, he can count it against my share of Erebor’s treasure.”

He just wished Thorin would wake up and take over his damned kingdom already.

Though they probably weren’t expected to, many of the company worked in the mountain. Oin, of course, was with the healers, and Ori had joined them too. Though she did not know much about healing, she could bandage and clean and comfort if need be. Bombur, Bifur and Bofur worked dutifully on cleaning out more rooms, as it was cramped and tight with so many in the mountain and so many rooms uninhabitable. Many Ironhill dwarves also joined them, promised with payment from Fili. 

Dwalin, though his banishment had been rescinded by Thorin, worried that he only took it back because he thought himself on his deathbed; and so he remained behind in Dale and helped the men.

Nobody quite knew what Nori was doing with his time, as they saw him briefly at meal times, and then he was quiet and brooding.

Thorin, much to the surprise of the elves, lasted through the first night and continued breathing. Often, he awoke but he had taken a fever and his words were nonsensical and his eyes gazed into a different world. Dori also lay in the wounded’s chambers, recovering slowly with pain from the slash across his face that had removed his eye,

Kili had not yet awoken.

Bilbo wandered the halls of Erebor when he was meant to be sleeping, and helped the healers where he could. Sometimes he ended up in Thorin’s chamber and tried to talk to him, but Thorin always remained incoherent. When he was quiet or sleeping, Bilbo told him tales of the Shire, so quietly that he was not the sure the dwarf king could hear him, if he were lucid.

It was while he was wandering that he ran into Fili, whose face was almost ashen with weariness. It had been the first time he’d seen any of the company, apart from Thorin, since the day of the battle, and it had been five days since then. They met in a hallway that had not yet been cleaned out but was close to where workers had set up. Bilbo felt uneasy about wandering too far into the mountain, sure he’d lose himself in the winding rock passageways.

“Fili!” Bilbo exclaimed, then frowned. “You look positively awful. Have you not been resting?”

Fili, who had straightened his back and squared his shoulders when he heard his name, sagged as he saw it was only the burglar. “Nay,” he sighed, and scrubbed a hand over his face, so like Thorin that Bilbo had to blink. “There is so much to do…I haven’t even been able to see Kili, though they tell me his condition is the same.” When Fili gazed down at Bilbo, the hobbit drew in a breath at the worry and pain deep in the dwarf’s eyes.

Bilbo himself hadn’t been to see Kili either, though the young dwarf often occupied his thoughts. Every time he thought he should go, he pictured the dwarf pale and death-like upon his bed, and Bilbo couldn’t stomach the thought of such energy being snuffed out, temporary or no.

“Ah, Fili…” Bilbo fiddled with the ends of his jacket awkwardly. “I wish there was something I could do.”

Fili smiled down at the small hobbit. “There is something actually…If you could watch over Kili for me and tell me immediately if anything changes? I would be grateful.”

Bilbo nodded determinedly. “Of course I can do that. In fact, I shall go to his room now.” And with that, they made their farewells.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You're all so lovely, honestly. Your comments and kudos make me so happy.
> 
> I'm not sure if anyone would be interested, but I've recently set up an Etsy store selling lingerie-style sewing patterns. It's over here: https://www.etsy.com/au/shop/PatternsPromiscuous?ref=hdr_shop_menu  
> Even if you just give it a favourite or send the link onto anyone else you think might be interested, it would be really helpful. As a new store, it's very difficult getting exposure.
> 
> If you let me know you're interested in anything in a comment, I'd love to set up a coupon code so you can get a discount as a thank you for reading my story.
> 
> In any case, I hope you guys enjoyed the conversation Bilbo and Thorin finally had!


	27. waking

When Bilbo made it to Kili’s room, the sight of his pale, lifeless form took the breath out of the hobbit. “Oh, Kili,” he murmured, and brushed back the limp, knotted hair from his forehead. “You’re too young to be like this. Too young to have fought in such a battle. I’m so sorry, Kili.”

He was tired of being so sad. The melancholy dug so deep into his bones and caused him to feel so weary his head felt heavy on his neck.

“Hope you don’t mind, my boy,” Bilbo mumbled and crawled into the bed beside the softly-breathing dwarf. Bilbo sighed and then slipped quickly into sleep.

\---

“Has anyone seen the burglar?” Balin asked at dinner. With the mountain in the shape it was in, mealtimes were served communally, in what used to be the royal kitchens. The ovens slept quietly to the side, but it had been cleaned out and quickly become a dining hall, with mismatched tables and chairs crowded inside. Bombur had created a section where he built a large fire where it would not spread and he cooked mainly stew in a cauldron almost as large as he was. 

“I’ve seen him wandering about sometimes, but I have not actually noticed him today,” Gloin replied.

Bofur pulled his hat lower on his head and sank a little. The miner’s face was pale behind his moustache. “He’s not said a word to me in so long,” he murmured.

“Nor I,” Gloin agreed.

“Nor I,” Ori chimed in.

Balin simply shook his head. “I will go looking for him, I think,” he decided. “With Thorin the way he is…the poor hobbit must be beside himself.”

“I’ll come.” Balin nodded to Bofur in acknowledgement.

They left as soon as Bofur had passed the rest of his food to his brother. He’d not had the appetite to eat lately, but food was not to be wasted in these times. Balin and Bofur walked in companionable silence; after travelling together for so long, any member of the company could walk beside another and not feel the incessant need to fill silence with words – a trait to which Bofur was particularly prone. They checked Bilbo’s quarters, which didn’t look like it had been used, and Thorin’s room. The elf nodded to them as he bathed Thorin’s head with a cold cloth. The longer Thorin remained trapped in fever, the less likely it was he would make it, but neither dwarf could dwell on this thought for long.

Fili eventually pointed them in the right direction, mentioning that he’d asked Bilbo yesterday to look after his brother. And indeed, they finally found him with Kili, wrapped around the dwarf like a child after a terrible nightmare. His cheeks were wet, so perhaps that comparison was not so far off. 

“Should we wake ’im?” Bofur asked in a mutter.

“I dont’ know,” Balin replied. He tried to keep his voice down. “How long do you think he’s been here?”

At that, the hobbit stirred, and blinked up at the two dwarves blearily. He didn’t move his arms from where they were wrapped around Kili. “Do you two know what the meaning of quiet is?” he grumbled, and wiped his face on his arm. “Oh, don’t look so startled. Just you walking could wake up the dead.”

Bilbo paled at his own phrase.

“Um…how long have you been here, anyway, Bilbo?” Bofur asked cheerily, changing the subject immediately – and entirely unsubtly. 

“I don’t know…I talked to Fili and then came straight here and fell asleep,” Bilbo said through a yawn. He thought about getting up, but he was so warm and comfortable where he was, so he simply snuggled tighter into the dwarf beside him. If he’d been more awake, he probably would have panicked at the realisation that he was sharing a bed with a dwarf – but then, the dwarf was indeed comatose. What could he do to hurt Bilbo?

“Fili said that was yesterday,” Balin said, exchanging a glance with Bofur. “And it is now dinnertime the next day.”

As if on cue, Bilbo’s stomach rumbled loudly. “Oh dear…” he simply murmured.

“Get off, Fili,” came a sleepy murmur from beside the hobbit, almost too quiet to hear. Bilbo went still for a moment before he withdrew himself so forcefully he landed backside on the floor next to the bed.

He shook off the residual panic with cautious relief. “Kili?” he asked, standing up beside the bed. “Kili, can you hear me?”

Instantly, both Bofur and Balin were on alert, staring at the dwarf with anticipation. They had not heard the prince speak, had not even noticed his lips move as they’d been looking directly at Bilbo, trying to recall if they’d ever been a moment beforehand when he’d acted so free around the dwarves.

“Go away,” Kili grumbled, and attempted to swat weakly in the direction of Bilbo’s voice. “Leave a ‘warf alone when ‘e’s got a hangover.”

“I will get a healer,” Balin said immediately and left, his eyes abnormally bright.

\---

When Balin arrived with Fili and Oin and a couple of elves, Bofur left the room where he’d been conversing quietly with Bilbo. This time was for family, and he didn’t want to intrude, as close as he was with the company. Instead he sought out Nori, who he’d not seen much of recently, by way of asking everyone he passed if they knew where he was. It didn’t take long to find him when he started describing the three-hilled hair.

The thief was currently leaning against a wall with a knife twisting idly between his fingers. When he heard Bofur’s footsteps, he looked up and raised a braided eyebrow. “Heard you were looking for me,” he drawled.

“Damned right I was,” Bofur replied, trying to scowl but not even coming close. “I haven’t seen you properly since before the battle! Where have you been keepin’ yerself?”

Nori sighed and the knife disappeared. A flash of utmost weariness was caught on his face for just a small second. “I’ve been helping the healers,” he admitted.

Bofur blinked. He didn’t know quite what he expected but it hadn’t been this. “The healers?”

“Aye,” Nori said with a small smile. He pushed off the wall and they fell into step with each other. “I am quite handy with a knife, you know. And not many have strength of stomach to take part in the necessary surgeries.”

Bofur shivered. He remembered, from after the battle, the screams from those in emergency surgeries. They had not the rare items needed to send the wounded to sleep, nor even enough ale to spare to dizzy them up, so the healers simply had to grit their teeth and try to be as fast as possible. The screams generally cut off after a while, when the pain knocked them clean out, but some remained awake for the entire thing.

Suddenly, Nori was drawn from his own thoughts when Bofur seemed to trip and fell face-first to the ground. “You clumsy dwarf,” he chided as he stopped walking and looked down. He frowned; Bofur seemed almost too still to have simply tripped. “Bofur?” he said hesitantly – an odd sound to his voice, as Nori was not a hesitant dwarf.

“Bofur,” he repeated, kneeling down and rolling the dwarf onto his back. As he moved, Bofur’s hat fell from his head, and Nori almost gasped aloud. Along Bofur’s forehead, a nasty gash seemed almost to throb. It wept pus and small beads of blood, and it was swollen to the point of bursting. The skin around it was an angry red. Whether Bofur had meant to or not, his hat had been hiding the wound; it should have long been treated.

It would not have been a serious wound…but now, without the proper care it should’ve gotten, it was.


End file.
